Going off the Rails
by Jean Blessing
Summary: When Mike asks the rest of the Monkees to help clean the pad, they don't know the dire consequences when Micky's goofing off goes too far. Disclaimer: We do not own the Monkees, any of their songs, or any big product names mentioned in this story.
1. Chapter 1- Micky's Jokes

**_Author's Note: We do not own the Monkees, any of their songs,_ Pledge, _or_ Kellogg's Frosted Flakes _._**

* * *

Chapter 1- Micky's Jokes

It was just another day at the pad. The sun was shining, the seagulls screamed over the shimmering oasis that was Malibu, and four particular musicians were waking up to a brand new day. Davy, Mike, and Micky had all gotten up a hour prior, but Peter decided to sleep in. He had remembered hearing the others get up, but he decided he was too comfortable to join them. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach that something bad was going to happen, and he had no desire to face it.

"Peter!" Micky yelled from downstairs. "Get up!"

Peter shook his head no, muttering, "I don't want to Micky, let me be. I don't feel well." That was partially the truth, even though Micky couldn't actually hear it. He didn't feel well, but it wasn't a physical illness that had bed-ridden him.

"PETER!" Mike yelled. Groaning, Peter sat up.

"But Mike…" He muttered to himself, throwing off the sheets and dragging himself out of bed. He was afraid that whatever was going to happen would be a result of violence, and they all knew Peter hated violence.

Peter trudged downstairs, receiving the typical teases of his band mates. He grabbed a bowl and spoon and placed them on the table in front of the only empty seat. He then proceeded to grab some _Kellogg's Frosted Flakes_ and some milk. He then prepared his cereal and proceeded to eat it.

"So, I was thinking that we should run over the songs we are going to play one last time before the show tonight. Remember we have that new song that we are going to be singing," Mike said, picking up his bowl and running water in it to clean the breakfast dishes.

"Oh come on Mike," Micky griped, "We've practiced 'As We Go Along,' so many times I can play it in my sleep."

"Yeah Mike," Davy chimed in, "Can't we take a bit of a break?" Mike sighed and looked out the window across the beach to the sea. He then looked back at his band mates, finally coming to a decision.

"Okay, fine… No practice today," He said as Micky, Davy and Peter grinned. "But I would like it if you helped me clean up the house."

"Yeah, okay." Micky said, nodding as he slurped down the rest of the milk in his bowl and added it to Mike's bowl in the sink. Mike turned around and shut the water off, grabbing a rag and beginning to wash the dishes.

"I'll start cleaning the living room." Micky said as he made his way over to the couch and started to pick up the newspapers that were lying around. He put them into a pile to be taken out with the trash.

"Alright, but let Davy or I dust." Mike said as he rinsed off a cup.

"Why? It's like you don't trust me." Micky said, faking a pout.

"I do trust you Mick, I just don't trust you enough to not break something." The Texan said as Davy and Peter snickered, depositing their dirty dishes into the sink as well.

"Well what should I do?" Peter asked.

"Want to put dishes away for me?" Mike asked. Peter began drying and putting dishes away and Davy made his way upstairs.

"Where do you think you're going?" Micky asked as he started to pull the vacuum out.

"Upstairs to clean the bedroom." Davy answered.

"All four of us should clean the bedroom." Peter said as he put the empty milk carton into the garbage.

"Okay, then I'll pick up the dirty laundry." Davy said, making his way up the stairs.

"I have a feeling he's not going to do anything of the sort, except maybe look at it," Mike sighed.

"Oh come on Mike," Micky said over the roar of the vacuum. "Have some faith in him."

"Yeah, alright." Mike said, draining the dirty water from the sink. "But if I go up there and find out that he's reading or just laying on his bed, I'm going to be ticked." Peter shook his head slightly as he put the last spoon away and hung up the towel over the oven door handle.

* * *

An hour later, Davy still hadn't come down from upstairs. Grumbling under his breath, Mike made his way up the spiral staircase and walked into the bedroom. Davy was on the bed, reading a book.

"Davy, what are you doing?" Mike asked in an accusing tone.

"Well, I started to pick up all the dirty clothes, then I found this book that Micky was reading and he had told me that I should read it, so I started reading that and yeah..." Davy trailed off, looking sheepish.

Mike sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, give me the book," Mike said, holding out his hand for the paperback. Davy handed it over reluctantly. "Thank you. Start picking up the laundry and putting it into the basket, alright? Then get down stairs and dust. Then we'll go to the laundromat and do the wash." With that, Mike turned around and went back down stairs.

"So, what was he doing?" Peter asked, shouting a little to be heard over Micky's vacuuming.

"Reading this," Mike said, holding up the book and placing it on top of the fridge where, he hoped, Davy couldn't reach it. A few minutes later Davy came down stairs with the laundry bag and set it by the door.

"So all the laundry is sorted and stacked in here with the colours on top." The Englishman said as he looked around. "What else is there to do?"

"Davy, you should be old enough to know what needs to be done around the house." Peter said as he started to pick up the windbreakers they all had worn the day before.

"Here, dust why don't ya?" Mike handed Davy a rag and some _Pledge_. Davy sighed, but took the rag and bottle and started wiping down the coffee table.

"Would you rather clean the bathroom?" Mike asked from where he was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the tub out.

"Eww, no." Davy exclaimed, wrinkling his nose.

"Didn't think so," Mike answered.

Micky looked around. He was getting bored again.

"Hey Davy, think fast!" Micky said as he tossed a wad of balled up paper at Davy. Davy grabbed it and tossed it back to Micky and soon even Peter joined in with their little game.

"Alright you three, what's going on?" Mike asked as he came out of the bathroom, his hands on his hips, looking at each of them in turn.

"Just trying to make chores a little more interesting." Micky said, lobbing the paper into the trashcan.

Mike sighed, "Can you just clean please? We have a lot of work to do in order to get this house looking halfway decent again."

"Aww, you're no fun Mike." Davy said, sticking out his bottom lip in a mock pout.

"Yeah well... I just want to get this done with so we don't have to spend tomorrow doing it." Mike said, turning to go back into the bathroom.

"How did we let it get this bad anyway?" Micky questioned as he grabbed the window cleaner to start cleaning the windows.

"I did a little bit of an experiment," Mike said with a diabolical smirk.

"Oh yeah, what kind?" Peter asked.

"I didn't clean as much as I normally do." Mike answered, coming out of the bathroom on his hands and knees as he scrubbed the floor. "I'm not saying that I do all the cleaning," He quickly said as his three band mates exchanged looks of hurt.

"But you do most of it... Gee Mike, we're sorry." Davy said. "We'll try to do better."

"Yeah!" Micky agreed, running a hand through his mop of curls. Peter just nodded. Mike sat back on his heals and sighed. He didn't mean to make his friends feel guilty.

"It's alright guys... I could of asked you to help out, but I didn't until today. Anyway, the bathroom is clean. Once the kitchen floor is scrubbed down we should be able to tackle the bedroom." He went over to the window and grabbed a clean rag to help Micky wash the windows. That's when Micky started goofing off again.

It started innocently. He started imitating Mike, making Peter and Davy giggle. However, the rag in Micky's hands decided to try a little something different than what Micky had in store...

Within seconds, Micky found his rag flying from his grasp, covered in window cleaner, heading right for Mike's face. Bulls-eye. Silence filled the room as Mike quickly pulled the rag from his face, his eyes squeezed shut. He dropped the rag, brought a hand to his eyes, and ran for the bathroom. Micky didn't realize how angry Mike could be until the door slammed shut, causing the silence to become more tense than it needed to be.

Being the only one willing to approach him, Peter silently walked over to the bathroom door. "Mike? You alright in there, Mike?" No response.

"Leave him be, Pete. Let's just clean up now." Davy ordered, continuing to vacuum. However, Peter and Micky stood silently, not sure what to do. "What are you two standing around for?"

Micky shrugged and then continued to clean the windows, his attitude scared and quiet. However, Peter stared at the bathroom. "Sorry Davy, I'm just worried," Peter said, not turning his head. They could hear the water running in the bathroom. After a couple minutes of attempted cleaning, the door swung open, again with a bang. All three boys turned to see Mike run upstairs in a panicked haste. Mike had one hand on his face as he fumbled up the steps like a drunkard. He slammed the door shut behind him.

"Mike!" Peter called, but like before he got no response.

"Gosharoony, I've really done it this time, haven't I?" Micky mumbled. As guilt ran through his blood, his mind instantly told him to run. That's exactly what he did. Micky dropped the window cleaner and ran out the back door, Peter calling after him.

"Leave him, Pete." Davy said soberly. "He needs his space. Come on, let's finish cleaning up." Suddenly, there was a loud noise from the upstairs bedroom. "On second thought, I think Mike needs space too, let's go." Davy muttered, grabbing Peter's arm and running out of the pad.


	2. Chapter 2- Cheer Up Sleepy Jean

Chapter 2- Cheer Up Sleepy Jean

"Mike?" Peter asked, knocking on the bedroom door. It was five o'clock, and they had a gig to perform in an hour. "Mike, we've got to go." No answer.

Slowly, Peter opened the door, finding Mike sitting on the floor in between he and Micky's beds. Mike had ripped his shirt off, _(quite literally, there were shreds of his shirt everywhere on the floor)_ and was now curled up in a ball on the floor. He held his hands on top of his head, his head resting on his knees. Mike's wool hat was thrown carelessly on the floor with what was left of his shirt. Peter keeled down, taking a good look at Mike. His face was bright red from tears. He stared down at the floor, muttering something unintelligible.

"Mike? Hey, Mike?" Peter asked, setting a hand on his band mate's knee. Mike quickly recoiled backwards into the nightstand, hitting his head.

"Ow," he muttered, rubbing his head. He curled back into his ball.

"Mike, are you okay?" Peter asked. Mike quickly shook his head no, his raven-black hair flopping all over the place.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked as calmly as possible.

"No time," Mike muttered. "No time at all. I've got no time. I'm gonna buy me a dog and she whispers, 'sometimes the four kings of EMI take the last train to Zilch.'"

Peter scooted back a little bit. "Mike?"

"It is of my opinion that the people are intending. It is of my opinion that the people are intending." Mike muttered. Peter stood up and slowly made his way over to the door. He poked his head out and yelled, "Davy! Micky!" When he got a response from his band mates, he continued, "Come up here, you need to see this."

"What's up?" Micky asked as he and Davy entered the room. "Did you find out what's got Mike so mad? I mean, really, I was only playing around. I didn't mean to make him _that_ mad. Did he get something in his eye? Oh dang, if he did and he's going blind, then it's my fault. Man, I'm sorry Mike." Micky rambled.

"Micky," Peter interrupted, pointing at Mike.

"I wanna be free, like this generation, in this lovin' time. Tomorrow's gonna be another day, because she told me that she loved me, but I'm not her steppin' stone," Mike muttered.

"Whoa," Davy noted. "Mike, I realize we're bad, but not that bad."

"Yeah man, are you okay?" Micky asked.

"I don't think so," Peter said.

"And now I feel like, crazy man looking at me, she's him too, she's him too." Mike chanted, completely oblivious to the other three looking at him.

"Mike, man, cut it out." Micky said, getting down next to Mike and reaching for his shoulder. As soon as he touched it however Mike jumped up and started screaming at the top of his voice.

"Whoa! I'm sorry!" Micky blurted out. Peter stepped forward, and Mike quickly calmed down. He stood in his corner, looking wide-eyed at Peter. Peter took another step forward. Mike seemed a little scared to accept the blonde's advancement.

"Michael," Peter said, holding his arms out. "It's me, Peter. Silly, dumb Peter."

"Peter, you're not-" Micky started, but Davy quickly slammed a hand on top of his mouth.

Mike stared at Peter a moment before taking a shaky step forward. Peter gave Mike a small smile. "Michael, I'm your friend." Mike nodded and took another step forward. Peter wrapped the tall Texan in a hug, to let him know that he had a friend to rely on.

"Friend," Mike whispered as Peter let go.

"That's right, I'm your friend," Peter said. Mike nodded. He then sunk back down to the floor, chanting, "Friend, friend, friend,"

Peter got down next to him. "Mike, can you tell me what's wrong?" He asked. Mike looked at him again then looked at Davy and Micky.

Davy, Micky, and Peter could see tears well up in Mike's eyes. He shook his head, "Cheer up sleepy Jean, oh what can it mean, to a daydream believer and a homecoming queen?"

Peter sighed. "Come on, Mike," Peter said, helping Mike up onto his bed. "Hey guys? Go on down stairs, I'll be down there in a minute." Davy and Micky nodded and returned downstairs.

* * *

"This isn't good." Davy muttered to the room.

"I didn't mean any harm," Micky said. "But we need this gig. We need the money."

"We do, but we can't very well leave Mike home alone in the state he's in," Davy replied.

"Maybe we can call Millie," Peter suggested from the balcony.

"How is he?" Davy asked, setting Peter's suggestion to the side.

"I put him to bed," Peter said, "But like Micky said, we need the money. Maybe Millie will watch him."

"I'll give her a ring," Davy said, going over to the phone. He dialed Millie's number and waited.

"Hello, Millie?" He asked after a few seconds. "Hi, this is Davy Jones... I'm fine, how are you?" After a few minutes of polite chit-chat and Micky making circles with his finger telling Davy to get to the point, Davy cleared his throat.

"Say Millie, you're not busy tonight, are you?" He asked. "You're not? Great! We have a favor to ask of you. Mike isn't feeling the best tonight and we have a show we need to put on. We were wondering if you could come over and just keep an eye on him until we get back." He waited while Millie said something and Davy nodded then hung up the phone.

"Well?" Micky asked almost before the phone was back on the cradle.

"She'll look after Mike while we perform," Davy answered. Peter let out a sigh of relief that he didn't know he had been holding.

"You don't think we should tell her what has happened, do you?" He asked, looking up stairs.

"I don't know... Maybe we should tell her a half-truth... You know..." Davy let the rest of the sentence hang in the air.

"What? Tell her that Mike's gone nuts?" Micky asked.

"He hasn't gone nuts, Micky!" Peter yelled.

"Okay then, Peter, why is he acting like this, then?" Micky asked, stepping over to the blond.

"I don't know! Maybe he just has temporary insanity? Maybe by tomorrow it'll be gone?" Peter questioned, hope in his blue eyes.

"Yeah, Pete, it might be." Micky said, patting Peter on the shoulder looking at Davy.

"Well, we'd better get ready to go... Millie will be here shortly." Davy said, going and picking up his tambourine and other instruments, putting them into the box. Peter followed his lead and started packing up his bass and banjo.

"Peter why do you need your banjo?" Micky asked taking his drums apart.

"Well we're going to do 'What am I Doin' Hangin Round,' right?" Peter asked, picking up both cases and setting them by the door.

"I don't think we are Peter. I think we should stick with the songs we sing... Not Mike's songs." Micky answered.

"We could do solo spots," Peter said. "You know, we each take a song that we play ourselves."

"That's a pretty good idea Pete." Micky said, nodding his approval. Peter grinned and went to help Micky take his drums down. Right when they got the drums loaded and were just trying to put the last of the amplifiers into the car, Millie showed up.

"Hi fellas!" She said loudly, waving goodbye to Larry.

"Hello Millie," Peter said. "Thank you so much for coming over. We really appreciate it."

"Yeah, you have no idea how much this means to us." Micky said from where he was pushing an amp into the trunk of the car.

"Well, I care about you boys and if I can help out in any way, I will." Millie said, "Now, does Mike just have a cold or the flu?" She asked. All three Monkees looked at each other.

"Well…" Davy said, not quite sure how to put it lightly.

"You see, Millie, Mike just isn't acting like himself right now," Micky said. "We're thinking it's just stress so it's not that he's sick with a cold, more like…"

"Lost grips with reality?" Davy said under his breath.

"Davy shut up," Micky snapped quietly.

"He's just not himself." Peter finished Micky's sentence for him.

"We took the phone out of the table and put it on the table," Davy said.

"The number where we'll be playing is next to the phone," Micky added on.

"Mike is sleeping upstairs, if he wakes up just let him know where we're at," Peter continued.

"We should be home in an hour and a half or two hours," Micky finished up as they got into the car.

"Don't worry about Mike, you three, we'll be fine," Millie smiled.

"I sure hope so..." Micky said as he backed the car out of the driveway and headed into town.


	3. Chapter 3- Thunder Storms

Chapter 3- Thunder Storms

Millie waved goodbye until she couldn't see the car anymore. She then let herself into the house. Looking around, she saw that the house was decent. Nodding her approval, she made her way up to check in on Mike. Peeking in, she found him fast asleep in his bed, with the blankets pulled right up to his chin. His hat was resting on the table next to the lamp. Quietly going up to him, she put her hand on his forehead to see if he had a temperature. He didn't feel warm so she softly backed out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Making her way back downstairs, she reached into her purse and took out her knitting.

She hadn't been knitting for very long when she heard movement from upstairs. Setting the needles down she made her way slowly to the stairs and just put her foot on the bottom one when the bedroom door opened and the six foot tall Texan came flying down stairs, crying.

"Mike?" Millie asked, moving quickly out of the way as Mike started to run around the house making strange noises.

"Mike, what's wrong? Do you hurt somewhere?" Millie asked, trying to get Mike's attention. Mike finally spotted Millie and stopped to looked at her.

"Hi Mike," Millie said. "What's wrong?"

"Friends, friends, friends, friends," Mike said, looking around.

"You're looking for your friends?" Millie asked.

"Friends, friends, FRIENDS!" Mike said. Each time he repeated it until he was shouting it then he started to run around again, looking everywhere.

"Mike, honey... Look," Millie said worriedly. When Micky said Mike wasn't acting like himself, he meant it. "Your friends have gone to play at a club. They'll be back soon." Mike took no notice of her. Instead, he looked over to the band stand where he found it empty except for his guitar. He made his way up there slowly and slumped down, gently touching the instrument.

"Mike, did you hear me?" Millie asked. "Your friends have left to-" At that, Mike looked up with puzzlement in his eyes.

"Left?" He asked childishly. "Friends left?"

"Yes Mike, they left," Millie confirmed and before she could tell him that they'd be back, Mike started wailing. Millie gawked at the sight. A twenty-three year old man crying because he thought his friends left him! She straightened her back and marched over to the crying musician.

"Michael Nesmith," She snapped. "You look here, yes your friends have left, but they'll be back. Now quit your crying," She said getting down next to him. Mike looked at her with hurt, hazel eyes.

"Friends are coming back?" He asked.

"Yes Mike. You're friends are going to be coming back," Millie said.

Mike smiled a small, childish smile. "When?"

"I don't know... Soon, though. Now why don't you get up and sit in a chair. It'll be more comfortable for you," Millie said as she made to get up. "Come on, Mike." Mike followed her slowly back to the chairs and sat down.

"Now, can you tell me why you went running down the stairs?" Millie asked. Mike bit his lip and shook his head no.

"Why not?" Millie asked. Mike whispered something that Millie couldn't hear. "What was that Mike?" She asked. Mike repeated it a little louder.

"You were scared?" She asked. Mike nodded not looking at her. "Of what?" She probed.

Mike didn't answer. Instead he started singing, "So take my hand, I'll start my journey. Free from all the helpless worry." Millie shook her head and picked up her knitting. Yes Mike was most definitely not acting like himself. She hoped the other three would be back soon so she could talk it over with them.

* * *

For about half an hour Millie knitted while Mike sang quietly to himself, jumbling different lyrics and different tunes to the appropriate lyrics. "Sometime in the morning, laugh, cause the music is funny, and you can't leave her if I tried. Then I saw her face, now take the last train to Clarksville…"

 _ **BOOM!**_

Mike yelped at the sound of thunder. Millie immediately put down her knitting, wrapping the now crying Mike in her arms. "Shh, it's only thunder, Mike. It'll be alright."

 _'Oh boys what have you done to him?'_ Millie thought to herself. At every crack of thunder, Mike would cringe and hold onto Millie even tighter. In a panicked haste, Mike would mumble some more lyrics till the next crack of thunder. Millie would whisper soft, comforting words to the man, wondering what could have possibly pushed him this far. She decided it would be best to not let go of him.

After what seemed a like five minutes of no thunder, Millie smiled at Mike. "Mike?" Mike looked down at Millie and nodded to signal that she had his attention. "How about you get some sleep? If you sleep through the storm, your friends will come home sooner."

Mike cocked his head, contemplating what she said. After a moment he smiled a dumb, goofy smiled and nodded. Millie lead Mike upstairs, but as she did, they heard another crack of thunder and the front door swing open and shut, revealing three soaked Monkees, panting for breath.

"FRIEND!" Mike yelled, pushing Millie aside and hugging Peter.

"Hey Millie," Micky panted.

He was rewarded with a motherly death glare from her. "Peter," Millie ordered. "I was just about to put Michael to bed. Would you mind taking over?"

"Uh, sure..." Peter said, "Come on Mike." Peter said, guiding the lyric-babbling man upstairs.

"I have no more than I did before, but look out, here comes tomorrow, that's when I have to choose. Forget that girl…"

Once Peter shut the upstairs door, Millie turned her direction to the two sopping-wet boys. "Alright then, you two need to answer me a couple questions."

"Millie, we can explain," Davy began, but Millie interrupted him.

"One," She said, holding up a finger to silence the Englishman. "Why are the three of you soaked to the skin, when you own a perfectly good car. Two," she held up two fingers. "What did you three do to drive Michael insane? Now you two get over to the table while I get you towels and some hot chocolate going." She lead the two to the table, sitting them down firmly. "Now think about what you're going to tell me before you do." Millie walked in and out of the bathroom, handing a towel to Davy and Micky. She then turned to the kitchen area and began brewing some hot water for hot chocolate. "You may begin when you're ready."

"Well," Davy began. "We did the gig, got the money, but when we walked out to the car, there was a group of girls waiting for us."

"They attacked us, Millie," Micky blushed. "They were screaming and grabbing at us."

"Sound like you have some fans," Millie said.

"Yes, but at the cost of leaving our instruments and our car at the Vincent Van Go-Go." Davy said. "One of us will need to call Nate and ask him to lock up the instruments and the car."

"I will," Micky said, getting up.

"No," Millie said. "You can do that after you answer my second question."

Davy and Micky proceeded to explain to Millie the events of that day. They both admitted their sins and Millie listened without interruption. When they stopped talking, Millie asked if they were done. When they both said yes, she set the two cups of hot chocolate in front of them.

"I'll be right back." Millie walked upstairs, softly shutting the door behind her. Micky got up and called the Van Go-Go's owner, Nate, to ask him to lock up their stuff.

* * *

"Hello Peter," She said with a smile when she walked into the bedroom. She walked in to find Peter singing softly to Mike, who seemed to either be asleep or dozing off. "The boys told me everything."

"I know," Peter frowned. "I'm ashamed. I hope he'll get better. I don't think he's faking it."

"No... I don't think he is either." Millie said, going over and brushing some locks out of Mike's eyes. His eyes fluttered open slightly unfocused due to being tired.

"Mike, I'm going to go now, alright?" Mike looked at her, trying to figure out what she was saying.

"Go?" Mike asked, frowning.

"Yes. I'm going to go home. If you want, I'll come by some other time to visit with you."

"Okay." Mike closed his eyes again. Peter smiled and made to get up. The mattress going up made Mike open his eyes again and look at Peter.

"Friend go too?" He asked worriedly, reaching for Peter's hand.

"No Mike, I'll be right back. I'm just going to see Millie out. I'll be right back." Peter said, patting Mike's hand and walked with Millie out the door and down stairs.

"It's odd seeing Mike acting like this." Peter said as Millie grabbed her things.

"Yes, when you said he was acting different, you really meant it," Millie said. Micky nodded.

"I called Larry for you so he'll come to pick you up," Davy said. "Thank you so much."

"Anytime Davy. I should let you guys know that he had a nightmare tonight but he wouldn't tell me what it was about." Millie said as lights glowed through the window, letting them know that Larry had arrived.

"Alright, thanks for telling us," Peter said. "I'll see if he wants to talk about it tomorrow." Millie nodded and opened up the door and ran for the truck.

"Hello Sweetie," Millie said, getting into her husband's truck.

"Hello Millie," Larry said, leaning over and kissing his wife. "How's Mike feeling?"

"Oh wouldn't you like to know?" Millie laughed nervously. "He reminds me of your niece. He's gone crazy, Larry. The boys drove him over the edge. I wish there was something I can do to help them."

"Well, you know my sister Laura cured Jan of her insanity, right?"

"She did? When?" Millie turned to her husband in shock as they pulled in the driveway to their house.

"A couple months back. She never told me how, but maybe however helped Jan will help Mike, if we're both referring to the same kind of crazy."

Millie sighed, leaning back and rubbing her head. "If I remember Jan from the last family reunion, then yes, yes we are talking about the same kind of crazy."


	4. Chapter 4- Good Night

Chapter 4- Good Night

"I never thought we'd get a Beatles welcome." Davy complained, drying his hair.

"Too bad Mike wasn't there to experience it." Peter said, placing his orange hat on his head.

"Mike probably wouldn't have a hat if he was there." Micky added, getting a brush stuck in his wet hair. "Dang, I'll need to straighten it again tomorrow."

They all stood in the living room, getting ready for bed. They had Peter bring their pyjamas down from the bedroom and they all got ready downstairs. They all decided they weren't going to go upstairs till they were all ready to go to sleep. Davy flopped down on the couch beside Peter. "What are we going to do? He's not going to be like this forever, is he?" Davy asked.

Peter shrugged. "Not a clue. I hope not. I sure miss Mike already."

Micky frowned at his reflection in the giant mirror. "Guys, again, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"We know Micky, and we forgive you." Davy said, turning to him. "It's not your fault. You were just trying to make things more fun."

"But Mike doesn't forgive me." Micky said, joining them on the couch.

"Mike always forgives you. Right now I bet he doesn't even remember what you did." Davy said. "With the way he's acting how can he possibly know what's going on?"

"Davy!" Peter whined.

"Sorry Pete, but you saw him…"

"But you don't have to treat him like he's a dummy!" Peter said, folding his arms.

Davy and Micky both looked at each other, the same thought in their heads. ' _Peter just told us not to treat Mike like we do him.'_

"We're sorry, Peter." Micky said, scratching his head. "To both you and Mike. We shouldn't be so hard on you two."

"Yeah," Davy added. "We'll try and keep our cool."

"It's alright, we just need to be gentle with Mike till he gets better. He's not like me."

"He's you times four." Davy said.

"Yeah, so we need to be careful about what we say and do." Micky added, taking a deep breath. "At least he's asleep." As if on queue, the sound of something falling and yelling came from upstairs.

"I'll get it." Peter said, standing and running upstairs.

"Good goin' Mick, stop jinxing us." Davy said, punching the drummer in the arm.

"Sorry!"

Davy shrugged and sat down on the couch "Micky, what if he doesn't come back?"

"He'll come back." Micky said, sitting on the couch next to Davy.

"But, let's say he doesn't.. What do we do? No offence, but we don't have the skills to take care of a guy with the mind of a child." Davy said, biting his lip, looking at the rain pouring down.

"None taken, and I know." Micky answered, "but let's hold off on that for a while." Davy nodded, still looking out the window.

Meanwhile Peter had made his way upstairs and into the bedroom.

"Mike?" He whispered. "Mike, are you okay?" He turned on the light to find Mike curled up on the floor, very much like he had been when they first found him.

"Friend, telling lies, walking down the, friend, can I go to, local rock group, friend." Mike chanted. Peter's heart went out to Mike. He looked so lost and confused. Walking up to him slowly, Peter got down on his knees and ran his fingers through Mike's hair. Mike looked up.

"Hello Mike."

"Friend," Mike whispered, latching on to Peter. Another crash of thunder sent Mike's hands up to his ears and he started rambling louder.

"Did you ever… Birds will be singing… Friend… Sleeping," Mike rambled.

"Mike, can you look at me?" Peter asked, taking Mike's hands away from his ears. Mike turned his eyes to Peters brown ones. "Is the storm keeping you up?" Peter asked gently.

Mike looked at him, puzzled, then hesitantly nodded. Peter inhaled and breathed out slowly.

"Alright, what if I stay with you?" Peter suggested. "Would you like that?" Mike considered what Peter had said and held out his hand. Peter smiled and took it and helped Mike up and back into bed. Laying down next to him Peter started rubbing small circles on his band mate's back and softly started singing, "When the world and I were young, just yesterday…"

When Micky and Davy came up stairs an hour later they found Mike in Peter in the same bed, Peter's hand wrapped around Mike protectively and Mike clinging onto Peter's shirt sleeve.

"Awe," Davy said, cupping his hands together. "Look at them, they're so cute together!" He said sarcastically.

"Knock it off." Micky said, elbowing the shorter man.

"Hey!" Davy whined.

"Will you two stop? I finally go Mike to sleep." Peter asked sternly, looking down at the sleeping guitarist.

"Sorry Peter." The two said in sync. The two Monkees walked over to their respective beds, sitting down and watched Peter continue to soothe their fallen leader.

"What do you think he's dreaming about?" Davy whispered to Micky.

Micky shrugged his shoulders. "Pie? Cupcakes? Anything that would resemble an LSD trip?" He suggested.

"You think?" Davy whispered back. The two looked over at Mike, who snuggled up closer to Peter in his sleep.

Peter felt their eyes and looked over at them. He offered them a small smile. "Go to bed, guys."

"What about you?" Micky asked.

"Aren't you gonna go to bed?" Davy asked.

"I'll try." Peter said. "I just need to detach myself first, but I haven't figured out how yet."

"Like this," Micky said, standing up and walking over to the two. He unbuttoned Peter's shirt and carefully slid the bassist out of the shirt. "Hand me that feather duster." Micky whispered to Davy, pointing to the giant duster they had by the dresser. When Davy gave it to him Micky stuffed the duster into the sleeve that Mike held onto. "See, no harm done. Now let's go to bed." Micky smiled at his work. Mike didn't wake up, but instead cuddled with the shirt even more so.

"Alright." Peter gave in, walking over to the other side of the room where his bed sat. "Good night guys."

"Good night."

"Good night."


	5. Chapter 5- Mind Management

Chapter 5- Mind Management

Mike felt like he was trapped, lost even. He could hardly breathe. So much was happening at once. He couldn't keep up. The only thing he could understand was the music. He could hear himself as well as his band mates singing away, but where it came from, he didn't know. The music was the only thing he could get a grip on. Everything else whizzed by without a care in the world. Even the faces of Davy, Peter, and Micky were hard to focus on. Peter was the only one who would sit still long enough for Mike to get a good look at. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't find the words to ask. Everything that he saw seemed so new to him. Every sound, every color, every shape felt new to him. All he could think about was the music. Then the darkness would come in quietly from behind, him covering up everything. He tried to go back to his friends, but couldn't move, even the music stopped playing.

"No," Mike whispered, groping his way to where he last saw them. "Davy?" He called out. No answer. "Mick? Peter You there? Come on you guys, answer me please!" Still no answer from any of his friends.

"They left," A new voice said, a voice that Mike had heard on and off all through his childhood.

"Oh, go away." Mike snapped, looking around for the source of the voice. It seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere.

"That's what everyone in your life does, Michael. They leave you just as soon as they can."

"That's not true!" Mike snarled. "My friends are around here somewhere. I just need to find them..." He trailed off, looking around.

"Why would you want to find them?" The voice asked with a tint of evil. "All they do is make a mess and cause trouble."

"I don't care. I just need to find them! I'd go insane if it wasn't for them!" Mike gasped at the disembodied voice, anger and desperation in his voice.

* * *

"PETER!" Mike screamed, waking the three Monkees.

"Mike?" Peter mumbled, literally falling out of bed. Popping up, he ran over to the panicking Texan. "Mike? Mike? Hey, it's me." Peter wrapped Mike in a protective hug. The man was shaking, tears falling from his face.

"Peter? Peter? Peter?" Mike asked continually.

"I'm right here Mike." Peter said reassuringly.

Micky and Davy both got out of bed as well, walking over to the two. "Is he even awake?" Micky asked, looking at Mike's face. His eyes were closed.

"I don't know, man. He didn't address Peter by his name when he was awake so… maybe?" Davy said as if Peter and Mike were not in the room. The two stood and watched as Peter sang Mike back to a proper form of sleep. The words to 'Shades of Grey,' lingered in the air as Peter got up from the bed.

"What was that about?" Micky whispered to Peter.

"I don't know," Peter admitted. "Think he's coming to?"

"Doubt it. He hardly acknowledged you were there." Davy pointed out. "Even when you had him he was still asking for you."

"I wonder why he doesn't ask for us, Davy." Micky wondered aloud.

"Maybe 'cause we were the ones goofing off that caused this mess." Davy pointed out.

"Oh, right."

"Come on guys, let's go to bed." Peter said.

"PETER!" Mike yelled again.

With a heavy sighed, Peter took back his suggestion. "Why don't you two go sleep downstairs tonight? At least one of us needs to be rested enough to make decisions for the group, and it's not going to be me or Mike."

"Good plan." Davy said, leading Micky out the door. "We'll sleep in the guest room. We'll come check on you in the morning. Groovy?"

"Groovy, man." Peter sighed, returning to Mike's side.

"Peter, Peter, Peter." Mike chanted, clutching the blond's orange pajamas, burying his head into Peter's chest and tears falling down his cheeks.

"Shh, it's okay Mike." Peter whispered, rubbing small circles on Mike's back in an attempt to calm down the crying man.

"No leave," Mike whispered so quietly that Peter almost missed it. He looked at Mike, his mouth slightly open.

"What was that Mike?" He asked quietly.

"No leave," Mike repeated. "Peter, no leave."

"Okay, I'm not going to leave." Peter said. "but you'll have to let me lay down, okay?" Mike loosened his grip on Peter's pajamas so he could lay down with Mike's head on his shoulder. Heaving a sigh, Peter started running a hand through Mike's dark locks and started singing again… Whether it was to comfort himself or Mike, he didn't know.

* * *

"What do you think Mike was dreaming about?" Davy asked as he and Micky set up a bed on the floor and couch.

"Lollipops and candy canes," Micky said rolling his eyes "I don't know Davy, but it must not of been good."

"Yeah, poor Mike," Davy sighed, glancing up at the bedroom where they could just make out Peter saying something.

"I don't mean to sound callous here," Micky said, "but what are we going to do when we have gigs? We can't have Millie come over every time we have to go."

"I don't know," Davy yawned as he settled down on the blankets. "But I do know this, I'm tired and I'd like to get some sleep, we'll get this all sorted out in the morning. Good night Micky."

"Night Davy," And apart from Peter's voice up stairs singing, it was quiet and slowly they drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Davy jerked awake the next morning, not quite sure what had woken him up. Looking around, he found himself almost nose to nose with Mike.

"Ahhhh!" Davy yelled, rolling away from the Texan. "Mike, what are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?" Mike just let out a very un-Mike-like giggle and ran to the kitchen table. Davy raised an eyebrow as he pulled himself off the floor and looked around. The storm that was going last night had blown itself out and the sky was a cobalt blue.

"Morning Davy," Peter said through a yawn. "Sleep well?"

"Pretty good, I guess. How about you?" Davy asked as he made his way into the kitchen.

"Alright, I guess." Peter said, handing Davy a cup of coffee. Davy nodded his thanks and sat down at the table, looking at Mike who was looking at him.

"What are you looking at Mike?" Davy asked. Mike didn't answer, but looked down at his hands, fiddling around with something that Davy assumed was his hat.

"Was there a reason as to why he woke me up?" he asked Peter as the bassist sat down next to him.

"Not that I know of. To be honest, I think he was just trying to get a good look at you or something." Davy stared at Peter.

"What do you mean, 'get a good look at me?'" He asked.

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "He woke Micky and I up the same way." He answered "Maybe he trying to see who you are, I don't know." Davy rolled his eyes and took a sip of coffee.

"Where is Micky anyway?" He asked, looking around and not seeing the drummer anywhere.

"He went out to get the paper, I think," Peter said. "He should be coming back soon. I did notice though, Mike doesn't freak out if we sit still."

"Well that's a comfort." Davy said sarcastically. Then, in a more serious tone, "Why?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know."

Suddenly, Micky walked in the house, newspaper under one arm and a bunch of flyers under the other. In his hands he held a box of doughnuts. "Mornin' Peter! Mornin' Davy!" He then gave one look at Mike before saying, "Good Morning Mike." He tried directing every word at Mike.

Mike shied away from the welcome and continued to fiddle with his hat, singing softly to himself. "Years ago I knew a man, who walks along the street, 'cause I need a friend now…"

"Did Mike give a warm welcome?" Micky chuckled at Davy. Davy gave him a lopsided smile as Micky handed him the box of doughnuts. "They had a bunch of flyers for auditions at the doughnut shop, so I decided to grab some." Micky laid the flyers on the table as well as the newspaper. "Anything interesting happen while I was out?"

"Not much, Davy just woke up." Peter replied. "Oh, Davy, I didn't tell you this yet, but I think Mike's finally warming up to Micky."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he wouldn't let me leave this morning. He didn't say my name, but threw quite a fit when I finished my cereal."

"That's how we found out he doesn't like us moving."

"Do you think that's a good sign? Like he's getting better?" Davy asked, hoping his friends knew.

"I don't know." Peter admitted. That's when the phone rang. Peter got up to answer it. "Hello, this is the Monkees… Oh good morning Millie… Oh, is it? We haven't really been paying much attention… Sort of, yeah. I had Micky and Davy go downstairs so they could get a good night's sleep… Oh really? Now...? Uh, okay. We'll be here. Thanks, Millie. See you in a little bit. Bye." Peter hung up the phone.

"What was that about?" Micky asked, stuffing his face with a doughnut.

"Well, apparently it's one in the afternoon, and Millie needs to talk to us about Mike. She's coming over. She says she has some news that can help Mike."

"Well that's good." Davy said. He looked over at Mike, who was still fiddling with his hat. "Has he eaten yet?"

"Yeah." Peter said. "He had some cereal. He eats like a normal person."

"Oh." Micky said. He quickly walked over to the kitchen, grabbed a plate, put a doughnut on it, and set it in front of Mike. Mike stopped fiddling with his hat and stared at the doughnut for a minute before deciding to eat it. Peter was right. He ate it like there was nothing wrong with him.

"Anyway, like I said, Millie's on her way over." Peter said. There was a knock at the door and the three Monkees knew that Millie had arrived.


	6. Chapter 6- Listen to the Band

Chapter 6- Listen to the Band

Peter got up from the table slowly and made his way to the door opening it to reveal Millie who was smiling slightly.

"Good afternoon Peter!" She said as she stepped in. "Good morning Davy, Micky."

"Afternoon, Millie," Peter said, smiling as he shut the door behind her.

"Good afternoon, Millie," Davy and Micky both said in unison. Mike just looked between her and Peter.

"Friend?" He asked, biting his lip. Peter went over to him and placed a hand on Mike's shoulder.

"It's okay Mike, this is Millie. She was here last night." Peter said. Mike frowned as if trying to remember. He must've remembered Millie because he went back to eating the pastry that Micky got him, getting jelly on his hands in the process.

"Would you like to sit down?" Micky asked, getting up from the table slowly, Mike watching his every move.

"I'd love to." Millie said making her way over and plopping down. Mike flinched slightly. This didn't go unnoticed by Millie. She shot a puzzled look at Peter, who's hand was still on Mike's shoulder.

"We found out that if we don't make any sudden movements, he does alright." Peter said. She nodded then cleared her throat.

"Larry and I were talking last night when we were driving home. He has a sister named Jan and her daughter Laura had the same condition as Mike." She stated.

"Really?" Micky said, "What caused it, if you don't mind me asking?"

"The doctors are saying that she was just overworked. She was trying to do two years of college in one and it was too much, so she just snapped." Millie explained. "I'm thinking that this is what happened to Mike."

"But Mike isn't in college." Peter said as he went to grab a washcloth for Mike to wash his hands on.

"No, he's not, but he may be overworked." Millie said.

"Oh, so how do we help him?" Davy asked.

"Well first you need to make sure that it's just him being overworked and not something serious." Millie said as she watched Mike fiddle with the washcloth a small smile playing on her face.

"Mike, wipe your face." Peter said gently. Mike licked the corners of his mouth getting the last of the donut crumbs off.

"Not like that, Mike." Peter said taking the washcloth from Mike and quickly wiping his face.

"So we call a doctor?" Micky asked as Peter finished helping Mike cleanup.

"Yes, but not a doctor for when you have a cold. He'll need to see a psychiatrist." Millie said.

Peter, Micky and Davy looked at each other while Mike, who seemed ignorant of what was going, on started chanting, "Peter, Peter, Peter."

"Do you have any suggestions?" Micky asked hopefully. "I mean, we've gone to a psychiatrist before, when I lost my voice to the Monkey's Paw…"

"But he wasn't very nice." Peter finished.

"Well, I have a nephew who was in college for psychology. Would you like me to give him a ring?" Millie asked.

"If you would, please. We'd feel much better with someone we trust." Davy said.

Suddenly, Mike went rigid. He stared at each Monkee in turn, studying their faces. Everyone stopped what they were doing, curious as to what their leader was up to. Mike's face softened up a little to a look of concern as he asked. "Peter? Davy? Micky?"

"He remembers us!" Micky yelped.

"He already knew Peter." Davy pointed out.

Millie stood up and placed a hand on Mike's shoulder. "Are you alright there, Michael?"

Mike continued to pass his attention to each Monkee, as if studying their faces. His face consisted of complete and utter concentration, as if any other look would have not gotten the point across. "Peter? Davy? Micky?" Suddenly Mike frowned and began to shake his head. "Peter… Micky… Davy…"

"Hey Mike," Davy said as the three of them slowly walked over to him, each placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright. It's us. We're here."

"Mike, can you hear us?" Peter asked.

"Micky… Davy… Peter…" Mike mumbled to himself, shaking.

"We should sing." Micky suddenly said, his hyper demeanor gone.

"What? How's singing going to help him?" Davy asked.

"Well, he sings all the time, maybe that's the only way we can get through to him. Also, since he's a bit upset, I think we should sing something to cheer him up."

"I'm with you," Peter said with a smile.

"Davy?"

Davy looked at Peter and Micky as if they were crazy, but then sighed. "Fine. What are we singing?"

"Take the last train to Clarksville and I'll meet you at the station…" Micky sang. Peter and Davy immediately jumped in with the harmony vocals. Once they began singing Mike had stopped shaking, but the worry on his face had not disappeared. He was looking around, as if trying to find the source of the music. Finally he realized who it was coming from and stared at Micky. When the song ended, they observed their work. "Well, he's not shaking anymore." Micky pointed out.

"But he's not exactly happy or normal, either." Peter added.

"Why don't we sing another song?" Davy suggested. "Maybe it takes a little more than 'Clarksville,' to fix him. "What about 'Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow)'?"

"Start us, Davy."

Davy cleared his throat and looking at Mike who was looking around again.

"Look out, here comes tomorrow. That's when I'll have to choose. Oh how I wish I could borrow someone else's shoes." Davy sang. Mike's eyes zeroed in on him as Davy continued.

Tilting his head slightly, Mike pursed his lips, studying Davy, then Peter, and then Micky when they joined in on the refrain. Once they were done, Millie clapped gently as to not spook Mike. Mike bit his lip, as if trying to remember something. Suddenly Mike got up from the table and went over to the bandstand, picking up his guitar. Micky followed.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Mike?" He asked softly. Mike didn't answer. He just held his guitar and looked at them. Then went over and grabbed Micky's, hand pulling him over to his drums.

"M-Micky" Mike said, grinning. "Drums. Micky." He repeated.

"That's right Mike, I play drums." Micky said, picking up the drumsticks and tapping out a little beat. Mike didn't answer, but instead smiled. Davy gasped and walked over to him.

"Mike," He asked gently as Mike turned to try to find the source of the voice. When Mike found him, Davy repeated himself. "Mike, what instrument do I play?" Mike looked at him for a moment. He lit up almost like a light bulb and he grabbed the maracas and handed them to him.

"Davy. Maracas." Mike said proudly.

"You best not ask him was you play, Pete, or you'll get an avalanche of instruments." Micky joked as Peter came over, but Mike seemed to be done playing the matching instrument game. He went back to his guitar and started playing something that no one could make out.

"Well, I'll just leave you four alone," Millie said. "I'll call my nephew tonight and see what he says and let you know as soon as I can."

"Okay, thanks a bunch, Millie." Micky said as he put a beat to whatever it was Mike was playing. Millie nodded as she showed herself to the door and walked out.

Peter picked up his bass and began to put down a basic bass line while Davy shook out a basic eighth note rhythm on his maracas, whispering to himself, "One-and-two-and-three-and-four-and." Quickly as song was forming and Peter began jotting down notes when he could. Mike was immersed in his guitar while the other three accompanied him in astonishment.

* * *

"Davy? Davy, where are you?" Mike asked, whirling around towards the song. He found himself face to face with the blurred figures of his friends, all singing. However, once the song was over, their faces began to fade out of focus. "No, no, no!" Mike yelled. "I gotta do something!" He looked around frantically. "W-what do I do?"

Then it hit him. He could see the blurred bandstand, and sitting on it, his guitar. If music was the only way he could hear them, than maybe playing his guitar would make them hear him. As he stood, he suddenly felt dizzy. However, determined, Mike made his way over to the bandstand. "You guys need to hear me," He said to no one in particular. As he walked, everything moved. The floor beneath his feet tipped, the walls tipping in the opposite direction. He was too thankful when he made it to the guitar. Suddenly, he heard mumbles coming from behind him. Turning around, he came face to face with another blurred figure. "Micky?" Mike asked, but the blurred figure didn't respond. "Micky?" Suddenly Mike found himself moving involuntarily. He was walking towards the drums.

"What, what's going on?" Mike asked aloud. He turned around to see the figure following. "Micky, is that you?" The figure sat down behind the drums. "Must be. Micky, can you hear me?" Suddenly, there was a new voice behind him. Its words were incomprehensible. Mike looked down at the figure. "Davy." Mike said confidently. No one in the pad was that short. Mike was moving again. He suddenly heard the familiar shaking of maracas and the muffled voice.

"Davy? Micky? Guys, what's happening?" Mike said, still not sure why he was moving. He raced back over to the guitar, holding it in the proper playing position. "I sure hope this works…" Mike said. He looked down at the guitar, but couldn't make out any of the details. Mike intended on playing, 'Papa Gene's Blues.'

* * *

Mike threw the guitar on the floor, letting out a furious yell. Micky, Peter, and Davy all stopped what they were doing, slightly scared for what just happened. Mike stared at the guitar as if it had betrayed him. Peter took a step forward.

"Mike, are you okay?" Peter asked, placing a hand on Mike's shoulder.

Mike shook his head frantically, tears forming in his eyes. "No heartaches felt no longer lonely, nights of waiting finally won me, happiness that's all rolled up in you." He said quickly and angrily.

"That's Papa Gene's Blues." Davy pointed out, setting his maracas down. "Do you think that's what he was trying to play?"

Mike shook his head. "And now with you as inspiration I look toward a destination, sunny bright, but once before was blue."

Peter shrugged. "Maybe."

"Then let's play it!" Micky declared, beginning to play the drum part. Davy scrambled to grab the appropriate percussion equipment as Peter raced over to grab his bass. They all picked up on it and began playing 'Papa Gene's Blues.'

Mike looked at them in confusion, but went over and picked up his guitar and played along. He sang the words softly to himself. Once they were done with the song, Micky got up to grab a cup of coffee and Mike flipped.

"Woah, easy there Mike," Micky exclaimed as Mike lunged at him and tried to pull him back over to the drums. "What's the matter?" Mike's eyes were wide as he tugged more violently on Micky's shirt. Peter put down his bass and went over to Mike and gently put his hand on Mike's hand.

"Mike, look at me." He said slowly. Mike still looked at Micky with brown eyes filled with panic.

"Mike, over here," Peter said, turning Mike's face to him, finally getting Mike's attention. "What's wrong?" Peter asked.

Mike let go of Micky's shirt sleeve and ran, tripping slightly, back to his guitar and started playing.

"I think he want's us to play some more." Davy said, answering Peter's question.

"Well, that's fine, I just need to get a drink." Micky said as he continued to make his way over to the kitchen to get his coffee cup. Mike looked up from the song he was playing, slightly panicked when he didn't hear anyone playing.

* * *

"Guys?" Mike asked, looking at Micky's back, which was walking away from him. "Micky, please, come back! I have got to keep them playing with me, can't they see that every time we stop they fade away?" He asked allowed, talking to himself.

Right when Micky was out of focus, Mike got up and lunged for him to keep him playing. He tried to pull the drummer back to the drums. He heard Micky talking, but he still couldn't make out what was being said.

"Come on Mick, please," He whispered. Then someone came over and grabbed his hand. Mike was still trying to tell Micky to get back to the drums, but Micky still wouldn't listen. He felt something touch his face and turn his head. He looked and the blurred outline of Peter. Peter said something that Mike couldn't make out. Peter repeated it and this time Mike could just make out something that sounded like the word 'wrong.' He looked at the outline of Micky and let go, running over to his instrument and started playing, hoping they'd get what he was trying to say.

* * *

"What song is he playing?" Davy asked, cocking his head to the side.

"I don't know," Peter answered. "I've never heard Mike play it before." Mike looked up worriedly. While Mike ran for his guitar, Micky slipped over to the kitchen and poured himself another cup of coffee.

"Maybe he's trying to communicate with us the only way he knows how?" He suggested bringing the coffee cup to his lips.

"What do you mean?" Davy asked, perplexed. "He can talk." Micky sighed.

"Davy, he can say our names, friend, and song lyrics," Micky said.

"So? Maybe the song he plays is his way of talking to us!" Peter shouted, making Mike snap his head up. Peter smiled and slowly walked over to Mike.

"What song are you playing Mike?" He asked. Mike started strumming it again and Peter really listened then chuckled slightly. "Hey Micky, I think you're needed on stage." Peter said, picking out the tune.

"What's he playing?" Davy asked, walking over and grabbing his tambourine.

"Randy Scouse Git. We always drown him with our part when we play. It's like we can't hear it, but we know it's there." Peter explained, walking over to the keyboard. "Micky, hurry up, you're needed on timpani!"

"Alright, alright!" Micky yelled, downing the last of his coffee and running over to the three timpanis they had sitting in the back corner. Davy helped him wheel them out towards the bandstand before jumping to the drumkit on the stage. "Think I can request Mike to start over?" Micky asked politely, tuning the timpanis.

However, as Micky said that, Mike started over again, noticing that the timpanis were out. "She's a wonderful lady and she's mine, all mine. And there doesn't seem a way that she won't come and lose my mind…"

"It's too easy humming songs to a girl in a yellow dress," Mike sang softly under Micky.

"It's been a long time since the party and the room is in a mess!" Peter and Davy sang under Micky.

Micky gave Peter and Davy a questioning look as he continued to sing. "The four kings of EMI are sitting stately on the floor. There are birds out on the sidewalk and a valet at the door."

"He reminds me of a penguin," Mike sang a little louder.

"With few and plastered hair," Davy and Peter finished, both grinning at Micky's annoyance.

"There's talcum powder on the letter and the birthday boy is there," Micky finished as he began to bang on the timpanis. "Why don't you cut your hair? Why don't you live up there? Why don't you do what I do, see what I feel when I care?"

* * *

"Aha!" Mike cheered as they continued to play. Micky, Peter, and Davy's words were clear now, and so was their music.

He could hear Micky sing, "Now they've darkened all the windows and the seats are naugh-a-hyde. I've been waiting for an hour, I can't find a place to hide."

"The being known as Wonder Girl is speaking I believe." Mike sang out.

He could hear Peter and Davy laugh before singing over Micky, "It's not easy tryin' to tell her, that I shortly have to leave."

"Why don't you be like me? Why don't you stop and see? Why don't you hate who I hate, kill who I kill to be free!" Davy, Micky, and Peter all sang out. Mike joined in halfway through. He looked up to see the blurs of his friends in their proper positions. He could almost make out their faces now, and it made him overjoyed.

Suddenly a loud banging silenced the song. A cold shiver ran down Mike's spine as the music stopped and the figures of his friends faded back into colorful blurs. "Guys, guys!" Mike yelled. "What's happening? Micky? Peter? Davy? Guys!"


	7. Chapter 7- Ring, Ring, Ring

Chapter 7- Ring, Ring, Ring

Davy was so startled by the knocking at the door that he brought the hi-hat crashing down, making Peter wince.

"Can someone get the door?" Micky asked as he hurried over to Mike, who had crashed down onto the ground, muttering lyrics.

"I got it!" Davy said quickly, stepping down from the bandstand to open the door. Peter followed Davy to the door as Micky made his way over to Mike.

"Mike, what's wrong?" Micky asked gently.

"Four kings of EMI….No time...the people are intending…..Gonna buy me a dog." Mike chanted, pulling his knees up to his chest and rocking.

"Mike, shh, it's okay. Someone's at the door, that's all." Micky said, grabbing Mike's hand. He looked over at the door and saw Davy talking to someone just out of eyeshot.

"When love comes knocking at your door," Mike sang out looking at Micky. Micky looked back at Mike.

"That's right Mike, someone was knocking at the door," Micky said.

"Yeah, but I wouldn't call it love," Davy answered, coming back over to them. "That was Mr. Babbitt, he wants us to keep it down."

"Oh, yeah, guess we were getting a little loud," Micky said, sighing. "On the up side, I think Mike is calming down some." They watched as Mike slowly uncurled, singing softly to himself.

"Man, this is going to be impossible." Davy sighed, he and Peter kneeled down in front of Mike. "Mike, can you hear me?"

Mike looked up, tears streaming down his face. "You're not the only cuddly toy, that was ever enjoyed by any boy…" Mike sang softly.

"You're not the only choo-choo train, that was left out in the rain, the day after Santa came." Davy sang. "Oh boy Micky, what have we done?"

"Don't say that Davy," Micky sighed. "It makes me feel bad. I wish he was faking it just so this would end." Micky rubbed Mike's shoulder for comfort.

Peter stood, looking out the back windows. "We just have to wait for Millie to get back to us on her nephew."

"What do we do in the meantime? It's not like we can play twenty-four/seven." Davy asked, now sitting criss-cross on the floor in front of Mike.

"I don't know." Peter sighed. He looked down at their leader, who was now mumbling the words to more of Davy's songs. Suddenly, Peter broke into 'Shades of Grey.' Micky, Davy, and surprisingly Mike, all joined in, singing perfectly. The mellow tune made Micky, Peter, and Davy's hearts sink in desperation for all their troubles to pass away. At the end of the song, Mike stared off into space, completely ignoring his three friends.

"Mike?" Peter asked, sitting back down and waving a hand in front of Mike's face. Mike didn't react to the hand.

"Can he hear us?" Davy asked, waving his hand in front of his face as well.

"M-Mike!" Micky called in a sing-song tone. Mike still remained inactive, staring off into the distance. "I wonder what he's thinking about…"

"Your guess is as good as ours," Peter sighed, speaking for both him and Davy as Mike shocked him by laying his head on his shoulder and closing his eyes.

* * *

It was dark again and there was no music playing. Mike looked around, trying to find anything that would make noise, but he couldn't find anything. He sighed and sat down, his head in his hands. He really didn't like the dark. The mean voice hid in the dark. It told him he was a failure and that no one liked him, but this time it didn't come. The darkness was welcoming and Mike felt safe. Then he heard a noise and looked up, glancing wildly around. Peter was there, making his way through the darkness.

"Hello Mike," He said, smiling. Mike didn't answer. Peter just smiled and sat down next to him. Mike didn't make eye contact, but gently put his head on the blond's shoulder, hoping that Peter wouldn't try to move it. Instead, Peter just smiled and gave him a one armed hug. Mike yawned and closed his eyes.

* * *

Davy grinned slightly as he looked at Mike and Peter.

"Hey, I think Mike looks about ready to crash for a kip." He announced. Peter looked down and sure enough Mike was struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Alright, come on Michael, let's get you up stairs so you can sleep for a little bit." Peter said as he got up and gently pulled Mike to his feet. As soon as he did that the phone started ringing. Mike looked around for the source of the noise as Micky hurried to grab it.

"And my number is Beachwood 45789," Mike whispered. Peter looked at Mike and then to Davy who shrugged.

"Come on Mike, let's head up stairs," Peter said. Both men maneuvered around the coffee table and up the stairs.

"So, who was that?" Davy asked as Micky hung up the phone and scribbled something down on a scrap of paper.

"That was Millie. She gave us the number for her nephew. I'm going to call and see when we can get an appointment," Micky answered as he dialed the number.

"Hello, Mr. Johnson? This is Micky Dolenz. Your Aunt Millie gave us your number... She did? Great!" Micky said as the voice on the other end of the phone started to say something else. "Yes, I believe that will work for us. Okay, thank you. See you then," Micky hung up, a big grin on his face.

"What are you grinning about?" Peter asked as he came back down stairs.

"I got an appointment with Steven Johnson, Millie's nephew, for the day after tomorrow at three O'clock." Micky answered as he went over to a calendar and wrote it in.

"Great!" Davy said, grinning as well.

"Yeah, I'm just glad he was able to fit Mike in on such short notice." Peter said as he went to get a drink of water.

"Now let's hope he can help us with Mike." Micky answered.


	8. Chapter 8- Voices in the Dark

Chapter 8- Voices in the Dark

"Mike?" Peter asked, popping his head into the bedroom. Downstairs, Peter could hear Micky praising Millie's nephew and vocally praying that he will never have to deal with a broken Mike ever again. It had been two days since they got confirmation that Mike was going to see Steven Johnson, and Micky was going crazy. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. None of them did, really.

Mike was looking out the window when Peter called for him. Mike spun around, taking a moment to find Peter. Once he did, he smiled. "Mike, we're leaving. Are you coming?" Peter asked. Mike frowned, unsure of what Peter meant. To be fair, this was going to be Mike's first time outside the pad since the accident. "Mike, come here." Mike walked up to Peter. Peter guided Mike out of the bedroom and down the spiral staircase.

"Let's go!" Micky yelped, swinging the front door open. "I'll drive!"

"I don't think that's safe," Davy laughed. "You might get pulled over for speeding."

"Hey!" Micky yelped, offended. "Zip it, shorty."

"Hey, hey, no need to get hostile," Davy laughed, "Let's go." Micky left first, then Mike guided by Peter, and Davy locked the front door on the way out.

The car ride was quick and filled with songs in order to drown out the sound of the car engine, which made Mike a bit uncomfortable. Once they got to Steven's office, they all quickly and quietly entered the building and were guided to his office with ease. Davy knocked on the door that had a plaque labeled, 'S. JOHNSON, PHYSIATRIST.'

"Come in." A voice on the other side said. Davy opened the door and let his friends in before he shut the door behind him.

"Hi," Peter began with Mike at his side. "My name is Peter Tork."

"I'm Micky Dolenz, the man you spoke with on the phone."

"I'm Davy Jones."

Peter sighed. "And this is Mike Nesmith."

"Nice to meet you all. I've heard a lot from Aunt Millie about you three," Steven said from behind his desk. He was roughly the same age as the four Monkees, with light brown hair and eyes to match. He has small sideburns on the sides of his face and was quite a handsome fellow. He stood and shook hands with Peter, Micky, and Davy.

"Hello Mike," Steven said gently, looking at the fourth member. Mike looked at him and tried to hide behind Peter.

"Michael, don't be like that," Peter said softly. He took Mike's hand. "Sorry, this is the first time he's been out of the house since well…" He trailed off.

"It's quite alright," Steven said. "Please take a seat." Peter led Mike over to a couch and sat down next to him, with Davy sitting on the other side so Mike was sandwiched between them. Micky took the remaining chair.

"So this first session is just to get to know you guys, Mike in particular, and to see what we're going to be dealing with." Steven said. Micky, Peter and Davy looked at each other while Mike looked down at his lap, wiggling his fingers and moving his hands up and down as if he were playing something.

"Mike?" Steven asked. Mike ignored him and continued to do his play his imaginary guitar. Peter gently nudged Mike and he finally looked up, blinking as if he was finally seeing the newcomer.

"Hello Mike, how are you?" Steven asked. Mike didn't answer and instead turned to look at the wall, muttering to himself.

"Mike, what are you saying?" Steven asked.

"Nothing really, just song lyrics," Peter answered for him when Mike didn't answer.

"So he can talk?" Steven asked, picking up his pen and writing something down in a notebook.

"Yeah, mainly song lyrics, though," Micky said. "We don't really know why."

"You guys are in a band, are you not?" Steven asked.

"Yeah, we're the Monkees," Davy answered.

"Mmm hmm, Aunt Millie told me that."

"Then why did you ask?" Peter asked.

"Just trying to get it in your own words, is all," Steven smiled. "Now back to Mike. What is Mike's roll in the band?"

"He plays guitar," Micky answered, "And he sings."

Steven nodded as he continued to scribble stuff down. "Okay, what about around the house? What is his function at your house?" Micky, Peter, and Davy went quiet as they thought about everything Mike did.

"Mike does just about everything," Davy finally said. "He makes the meals, sets up gigs, does the grocery shopping when we need to go, manages the bills, cleans…. This whole thing started because we didn't help him clean and when we finally did start to help…" He trailed off, trying not to look at Micky.

"I started to goof around and tossed a cleaning rag at Mike and it smacked him in the face," Micky admitted. "It was an accident, I swear."

"That's quite the responsibility for him," Steven said, scribbling that all down in the notebook.

"We know. I guess we never really realized how much Mike did until we started listing it all." Micky said, looking at his friend who was humming to himself.

"No one really does," Steven answered. "Mike," He asked, addressing the Texan. Mike looked at him and leaned into Peter.

"It's okay Mike, he's going to help you." Peter whispered, squeezing Mike's shoulder.

"Mike, can you tell me about your home life, before you came to California?" Steven asked. Mike looked at Steven and then at Peter and Micky who both nodded.

"Go on Mike, it's alright," Peter encouraged.

"Look out here comes tomorrow, that's when I have to chose. Oh how I wish I could borrow someone else's shoes," Mike muttered, not looking at Steven. Davy sighed.

"Mike, what are you trying to say, singing that song?" Steven asked, writing something down.

"I see all kinds of sorrow, wish I only loved one," Mike sang as if he didn't hear Steven.

"Are you saying that your home life wasn't good?" He asked.

"Just a loudmouth Yankee, I went down to Mexico," Mike sang. "I didn't have much time to spend, about a week or so."

"Mike?" Peter asked, turning Mike's head so Mike could see him.

Tears were filling Mike's eyes. "Help…"

Davy suddenly got up to give Peter and Mike room. Mike scooched back as far as he could and threw his legs onto the couch. He wrapped his arms around them and placed his head in his legs. "Help…" He muttered again.

"I need somebody…" Micky sang, praying it would work.

"What are you doing?" Steven asked.

"Finishing the song. That's 'Help!' by the Beatles. Which is weird, because he only sings songs we wrote. He has never sang anything different before. You should probably make a note of that." Micky explained.

"Help…" Mike muttered again, this time in more of a sob.

"Not just anybody." Davy added, seeing where Micky was going with this.

Before Mike could speak again, he burst into a fit of tears. Peter got up to try and comfort him, but when he reached to put an arm around him, Mike kicked him. In a fit of rage, Michael screamed, "Get out of my head!"

Mike returned to his sobs. When the sobs calmed down to a quiet fit, Micky muttered, "That's new."

"Is it?" Steven asked. Peter and Davy nodded.

"That's not song lyrics?" Steven asked.

"I don't think so," Davy said. All four of them were looking at Mike.

Steven carefully approached the crying man, gently sitting on the couch. He awkwardly smiled at his new acquaintances. "I'm going to try something I learned from an old friend. Don't be mad."

Before the three Monkees could question the man's statement, Steven placed his hands on Mike's temples. He closed his eyes and suddenly Mike fell over, completely passed out. The three Monkees jumped to catch him before he could hit the floor.

"What did you do?" Davy asked in shock.

"Helping him relax. He needs sleep." Steven said simply.

"Sleep? _Sleep?"_ Peter asked. "He gets sleep!"

"Physically, maybe, but not mentally. I learned that little thing from a… unique friend of mine." Steven smiled.

"What do you mean by 'unique?'" Davy asked.

"She was a lizard," Steven said with a sideways smile. "Anyway. That put him to sleep mentally. His brain is on sleep mode. When the brain is sleeping, it doesn't shut down all the way all the time. For example, if you're in a foreign place your brain will only shut down half way because it is afraid of anything that could kill you in your sleep. That's why sleeping in a new place is not pleasant most of the time. Now in Mike's case, his brain hasn't shut down because the connection between his brain and his body has been cut off. His brain is trying to reconnect."

"And this will help him get better?" Micky asked.

"It will get Mike's mentally prepared for help. You said he communicates through song, so that must mean he's in there somewhere, just dying to get out. We just need to help him get out. I believe that this occurred from stress, like he was overworked."

"Don't remind me," Micky rolled his eyes and blushed, embarrassed.

"Anyway, he went on a mental retreat. His body told him he needed to stop being stressed, so it cut him off. We need to fix the connection between his brain and his body." Steven explained further.

"Is that going to require… surgery?" Peter asked, nervous.

"No, no. It's all stuff we can do right here in my office." The three Monkees gave a sigh of relief. "Right then, let's get Mike comfortable, and we can talk some more."

With Peter's help, Steven laid Mike out on the couch and then Peter carefully raised Mike's head up and sat down, laying Mike's head on his lap.

"So what do we do?" Micky asked, sitting on the couch with Mike's legs in his lap, Mike's feet dangling slightly over the couch.

"Well," Steven said, sitting back down behind his desk. "I'm hoping that with a nice long nap, Mike's brain will rest up so he can either reconnect by himself or he will be rested enough for us to help him."

"What if that doesn't work? Davy asked.

Steven sighed. "Then you keep doing what you've been doing; talking to him, singing songs and have him come in to see me once a week," The young man answered.

Micky rubbed his chin. "How much is this going to cost us?" He asked. "I mean, we don't have a lot of money right now."

"We never have a lot of money, Mick," Davy pointed out.

Micky shot the short English man a look. "And this will cost us a lot. Seeing you every week, I mean." The drummer said. Steven nodded, seeing where Micky was going with this.

"I'm sure we can work something out about the payment problems," He said, smiling.

Micky let out a sigh and looked at Mike, who was frowning slightly in his sleep.

"No, go away," Mike mumbled. Peter's eyebrows knitted together.

"What's the matter?" Steven asked, grabbing his pen and paper to write.

"I don't know," Peter said slowly as he gently rubbed Mike's shoulder. Mike's frown deepened and his hands started twitch slightly.

"Peter?" Mike whispered. "You lie, I'm not listening to you. Peter?"

* * *

Mike was back in the darkness again. This time though, he couldn't see the outlines of his friends nor hear their voices.

"Peter?" He called out.

"He's gone," The voice said. "Gone and left you just like everyone else. Your mother, your sisters and brothers. They all left you."

"No," Mike whispered, his hands moving to cover his ears. "You're lying, I'm not listening to you." Mike looked around the black hole, trying to find a light of some sort, but couldn't find anything.

"Peter!" He called out again. No one answered.

"Your biggest fear is finally happening, Michael. You have been abandoned by everyone you love. They don't like you Michael. When will you understand that?"

"You lier!" Mike screamed. "I'm not listening to you! I want my friends back. Give me my friends back, and get me out of here! PETER!" Mike yelled at the top of his lungs, waking himself up, shaking.

* * *

"Peter, Peter, Peter," He chanted, his brown eyes popping open, scanning everywhere for the bassist.

"Shh, it's alright Mike," Peter said, turning Mike around awkwardly to face him.

"Peter?" Mike asked, looking at Peter.

Peter gave him a soft smile. "Yeah, it's Peter. I'm right here."

"Peter!" Mike gave him a hug, burying his head into the bassist's shoulder. Micky moved Mike's feet so it wasn't as painful for either Mike or Peter.

"Voice lied," Mike mumbled as Peter rubbed his back.

"What was that Mike?" Steven asked. Mike lifted his head off of Peter's shoulder to look at Steven and then back to Peter and shook his head.

"Don't like," Mike answered. Everyone looked at each other in confusion.

"What don't you like Mike?" Peter asked gently as he continued to rub the guitarist's back. Mike didn't answer, but he continued to look at Steven, distrust in his eyes. "Mike," Peter said. "Over here," He gently coaxed and Mike slowly moved his head and eyes until brown eyes met brown eyes. "What don't you like Mike?" Peter asked gently.

Mike looked back at Steven. "Don't like," He repeated.

"You don't like me?" Steven asked. Mike nodded. "Why not?"

"Sleep," Mike said.

Steven gazed at the musician, a frown on his lips, trying to read between the childlike phrases. "You don't like me because I put you to sleep?" He asked. Mike nodded.

"Okay, why don't you want to sleep?" Steven asked, but Mike shook his head and began to sing.

"Cause they say she's no good. She's a rag doll, such a rag doll." He sang softly. Steven sighed.

"We'll have to talk about this on Monday," He said picking up his card. "Does three o' clock work for you four?" He asked.

"Three o' clock works fine," Micky answered as Peter helped Mike to his feet. Steven handed him the card as Micky took his wallet out and stuck it in there for safekeeping.

"Okay, I'll see you on Monday at three and we'll go from there," Steven said. "It was nice meeting you all. I wish it could've been under better circumstances." He walked out with them to the building's door.

"Good bye," Peter said as Steven shook his hand.

"Bye, thank you so much for helping us," Micky said as he took Steven's hand in his and shook it. "Hey Pete, I'm going to go and bring the car around."

"Alright," Peter said, nodding as Davy said his goodbye.

"Mike, do you want to say goodbye?" Davy asked. Mike hadn't moved since they got out except to clutch at Peter's shirt sleeve. Mike looked at the psychologist and stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry.

"Michael!" Peter exclaimed, horrified as Davy tried and failed to hold back a shout of laughter.

Steve smiled slightly. "It's alright Peter, that's not the worst thing that a client has done."

"Still, it's not very nice. Mike, can you apologize, please?" Peter asked. Mike didn't say anything.

"Peter, Micky has the car here." Davy said pointing out the door. Peter glanced over and sure enough Micky was at the curb with the GTO.

"Come on Mike," Peter said as he walked out the door, leading Mike over to the car.

The three Monkees piled in and Micky turned the car on. It roared to life, causing Mike to cower away from the sound, covering his ears. He shut his eyes tight and began muttering under his breath lyrics the three Monkees had never heard before.

"Now it's quite a while ago that I had a strange intuition. Something was wrong with my gold record situation… Why they say with so much adoration… Well, I can't see that that makes it right… Well the devil incarnate runnin' music supervision, put me into a state of cataleptic euphemism… Somebody's preachin' 'bout the wonder world of Communism… Me and I don't understand at all and…" Mike just stopped.

"What was that?" Davy asked, impressed by the stream of words that just came from the guitarist's mouth.

"I don't know," Peter said, equally impressed, "But I wish I could have had a chance to write that all down. That would make some song."

"With the same tune, too." Micky added. "Maybe with some random slow parts in between, too. His sentences weren't exactly matching up."

"I can dig that," Peter smiled at the new song. "I wonder if that's a song he's going to write, but hasn't yet."

"That's groovy, man!" Davy laughed. "He's writing songs without writing songs! That will save us so much time and effort."

"Yeah, but I wonder why he just stopped," Peter frowned.

"Hey Mike," Micky called from the driver's seat. "Sing some more of that song, will ya? We're still in the parking lot and you hate the sound of the car engine."

"Floatin' down the river, with a saturated liver. And I wish I could forgive her, but I do believe she meant it when she told me to forget it. And I bet she will regret it when they find me in the morning wet and drowned, and the word gets 'round. Goin' down."

"Dang, Mike might just have to replace me for lead on that song." Micky tried to joke. When he got no response from the other, he decided to drive on, singing with Mike to drown out the car engine.

"Coming' up for air, it's pretty stuffy under there. I'd like to say I didn't care, but I forgot to leave a note and it's so hard to stay afloat. I'm soakin' wet without a boat and I knew I should have taken off my shoes. It's front page news… goin' down. Goin' down."


	9. Chapter 9- Baby Steps

_**Author's Note: We do not own**_ **the Beverly Hillbillies, _as to the fact they are briefly mentioned in this chapter. Thanks, enjoy!_**

* * *

Chapter 9- Baby Steps

They sang 'Goin' Down' and Mike had just started humming what sounded like 'Of You,' when Micky pulled into the driveway.

"Home!" Mike yelled, bouncing in his seat, pointing at the pad.

"Yeah Mike, we're home." Peter said as Mike unbuckled and bolted out of the car and into the house.

"Well, guess we can add 'home' to the list of words Mike is willing to say." Micky said as strains of a guitar came floating through the door.

"Come on, let's go." Davy said as he got out. Peter and Micky were right behind him. A crash made them pause and look at each other before running into the house.

"Mike, are you okay?" Micky asked, looking around. Mike was over by Micky's drums, fingers in his mouth, looking down at the high hat and cymbals which were now on the ground. Micky sighed and started across the floor to pick them up. That's when Mike freaked out. He dropped to the ground, hands over his head, rocking back and forth, muttering to himself. Micky froze, wondering what to do. Finally, he took a step towards Mike.

"Mike? Hey, Mike?" He asked, getting down and crawling over to his friend. Mike raised his head up a little and looked at the drummer. Micky smiled.

"Hi Mike," He grinned.

"Mad?" Mike whispered. Micky shook his head.

"No Mike, I'm not mad at you." Micky said, getting down next to the Texan. Mike moved away slightly, his eyes flickering between Micky and the other two as Davy and Peter picked up the high-hat and cymbals.

"Not mad," Mike nodded, lowering his hands slightly and started chanting, "Not mad, not mad, not mad." Micky looked at Davy and Peter, shrugging before looking at his wrist watch.

"I'm going to make some lunch... If there is any food in the fridge," Micky said, slowly getting up, Mike watching him like a hawk. "Davy, do you want to help?" Micky asked, walking into the kitchen as Peter took Micky's place by Mike.

"Yeah, alright," Davy said, getting up and following Micky into the kitchen. He went to the fridge to see what they could toss together while Peter stayed with Mike, who was now singing a mashup of 'Sunny Girlfriend,' and 'Blowing in the Wind.'

* * *

After lunch was eaten and the dishes were washed and put away, Peter went down to the beach for a while. Micky went upstairs to take a nap and Davy sat on the couch with Mike, watching television. Well, Davy was watching television. Mike was sitting on the couch with a slight frown on his face.

"Mike, what's up?" Davy asked, turning the volume down and slowly turning to face Mike.

"Don't like," Mike said, not making eye contact with Davy.

"What don't you like, Mike?" He asked, "The program we're watching? I can change it for you if you'd like."

Mike shook his head no, "Don't like voice."

Davy tilted his head to the side, a frown on his face. "What voice Mike?" He asked.

"Don't like voice," Mike repeated.

"What voice Mike?" Davy asked gently, but Mike didn't answer him. Davy sighed and leaned up against the back of the couch and watched the TV, his eyes flickering back and forth between the TV program and Mike. Shortly after Peter came back in from his walk, he sat down in a chair next to Davy and Mike.

"Hey Pete," Davy said not taking his eyes off of Mike who was watching a rerun of 'The Beverly Hillbillies.'

"Hi Davy, why are you looking at Mike?" Peter asked. Mike chose that moment to look up from the television.

"Friend!" He exclaimed, scrambling up to give Peter a hug. Peter laughed a little as he gave Mike a hug back.

"Hi Mike," Peter smiled. He turned his attention back to Davy. "Why were you looking at Mike?"

"Well, he said something odd," Davy said. Peter raised an eyebrow. "Well, odder then what he has been saying," Davy clarified.

"What did he say?" Peter asked as Mike got up and began wandering around.

"Well, he was talking about a voice," Davy answered.

"A voice?" Peter repeated, keeping an eye on Mike as he meandered over to the corkscrew staircase and hesitantly climbed them.

"Yeah," Davy said as he too watched Mike go upstairs.

"Did he say what it said?" Peter asked, tearing his eyes away from the bedroom door that Mike had walked into.

"No, just that he didn't like it," Davy answered.

"Hmm. I think we should mention this to Steve the next time we see him." Peter said. "And also bring it up with Mike, he might not answer but-" He was interrupted by Micky yelling and Mike darting out of the room, giggling. Micky was hot on his heels.

"Mike, what did you do that for?" Micky complained, glaring at the Texan.

"M-Micky up," Mike said proudly.

"Yeah, I'm up," Micky grumbled as Mike went over to his guitar and started playing.

Davy and Peter laughed. Micky trudged down the stairs, scratching his head in annoyance. Davy and Peter got up and joined him in that space of the house, leaving Mike to strum 'A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You,' on his own.

"What'd he do to you?" Davy chuckled.

"He flipped me off my bed. Literally! I didn't think he had the strength to do that," Micky complained. "I hit my head on the floor and the wall going down. You two need to keep a better eye on him."

"Sorry Mick," Peter laughed.

"Mike's just mentioned a voice he doesn't like. What do you make of it?" Davy asked Micky, the three of them now watching the confused guitarist try and transition from 'A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You,' to 'I Wanna Be Free.'

"Maybe it's the voice he's been yelling at. Like from his outburst from Steven's office," Micky suggested thoughtly.

"Hmm, I haven't thought about that." Davy admitted scratching the end of his nose.

"But if it is the voice in his head," Peter picked up. "Whose voice is it?"

"The only person who can answer that question is Mike," Micky said. The three of them turned to look at Mike who was still playing the guitar with a frown on his face, trying unsuccessfully to go from one song to the next. He finally gave up and settled on playing a random melody. Peter let out a deep sigh as he looked at Mike, who had his head bowed down, completely focused on playing that melody. After watching Mike playing that melody for a while Peter got up, slowly making his way to the bandstand as to not startle Mike too much. He sat down and grabbed his own guitar and started playing the melody Mike was playing.

"No," Mike said, stopping his own playing and looking at Peter. Peter stopped playing as well.

"What do you mean by 'no,' Mike?" Peter asked.

"No play," Mike said and started playing a different melody. Peter raised an eyebrow, looking at Micky and Davy, each of them giving him a puzzled look.

"Mike, why can't I play that melody?" Peter asked. Mike didn't answer. Davy cleared his throat, causing Mike to look up from his guitar.

"Michael," Davy warned. "You need to talk to us."

"I don't need to," Mike grumbled, still plucking out a new melody.

"I think we've just hit the terrible two's," Micky tried to joke. Neither Peter nor Davy found it funny.

"Mike," Peter tried again. "Why can't we play with you? What's the matter?"

"No play," Mike said again, his face turning into a scowl.

"Mike, you need to answer Peter," Davy scolded. Mike just shook his head.

"What do we do?" Micky asked. "Should we call Steven up?"

"Steven!" Davy said, "He might still be upset because of that. He might be mad at us for taking him to see Steven."

"I think you might be right, Davy," Peter said. "It's the only logical explanation we have right now for Mike's behavior."

"I think we should at least call Steven, anyway," Micky suggested, getting up and walking over to the phone. "He should at least know about this, in case we forget to tell him later." Micky picked up the phone, waiting for his bandmates to protest. When they didn't, he dialed Steven's phone number, which Steven had given them.

"Hello? Hi Steven, this is Micky Dolenz of the Monkees. Mike's acting particularly strange right now. He won't let any of us play with him. Peter tried to, but Mike scolded him and told him to stop. We think it's because he's still upset over the fact that we took him into see you. What do you make of it?" Micky stood quietly, listening to Steven over the phone, not understanding one-hundred percent of what he was saying. "Oh, I see, I think," Steven said something else. "Do you? Will you charge us for the visit? No? Oh thank you, Steven… Yes, I understand. She would be upset if you didn't, wouldn't she? Yes, I know how your Aunt Millie is. Thank you, Steven. I'll see you later. Thanks, bye." Micky hung up the phone. "Steven wants to come check it out, but it won't be till after he gets off of work. He'll be bringing Millie along since he knows where she lives and we both know she'll get mad if Steven comes here and doesn't visit her."

"And Millie would be mad at us because she's now as much a part of this dilemma as we are," Davy added.

"Right, so what do we do in the meantime?" Peter asked. The three Monkees looked over at Michael, who was struggled to make up a new tune.

"I think we should leave him be," Davy suggested. "Let him be alone for right now, since that's what he seems to want."

"It doesn't make sense, though," Peter said. "He's been craving our attention for the past week. Why does he suddenly want to be alone?"

Davy shrugged. "I have no idea, but I think, to be on the safe side, one of us should keep an eye on him. We can take turns. Just to make sure he doesn't do anything dangerous."

"Or stupid," Micky chimed in. "I'll take the first shift, since it was me who made this whole mess. Why don't you two go and get groceries. We're running low. Check the cookie jar to see what we've got to work with."

Micky placed himself on the couch while Davy and Peter planted themselves at the table, counting bills. Mike continued to sit on the stage, furiously trying to play his guitar. He was oblivious to the other Monkees' actions.

Soon afterwards, Davy stood up, stretching. "We have more than I thought," He told Micky as he went to grab a pencil and paper to write down what groceries they needed.

"Why? How much do we have?" Micky asked.

"Well aside from the rent money that Mike put away, we have seventy dollars."

"Seventy dollars!" Micky yelped in shock. Mike glanced up, looking at Micky for a moment before going back to the piece he was working on. "How did we get seventy dollars?"

"Maybe Mike has been squirreling it away for rent or something?" Davy suggested as he started writing down things to get.

"We need coffee," Micky said, opening up the cupboard doors. "Then staples, flour, sugar, milk, eggs, cheese, bread, maybe some canned soup, and some fruit."

"Chocolate," A voice said. Micky, Davy and Peter turned to look at Mike who had stopped playing with the guitar.

"What was that Mike?" Peter asked, smiling.

"Chocolate," Mike repeated. He got up and went into the kitchen and walked up to Peter.

"Well, Peter and I will see if we can get some chocolate, okay?" Davy said. Mike nodded, grabbing Peter's hand and tugging on it.

"Hey Mike, what's wrong?" Peter asked. Mike didn't answer, but just continued to tug on his hand until Peter followed Mike into the living room and over to the bandstand. Mike then sat cross legged on the floor.

"Help," Mike commanded. Peter looked at Mike, then looked at Micky and Davy.

"What do you need help with, Mike?" Peter asked.

"Help, song," Mike answered "Please," He added as an afterthought. Peter smiled.

"I can't right now Mike," He said, wondering how Mike would take the news. "I need to go shopping to get some food. I'll help you as soon as I get back, though. I promise." Mike frowned, slightly taking in what Peter had said.

"Peter leave?" He finally asked. Peter nodded.

"Yeah, I'm going to go, but only for a little bit," Peter said. "We're having some friends come over in a little bit to visit. You remember Millie?" Peter asked. Mike nodded.

"She's coming over, with her nephew Steven." Peter said. Mike shot a glare at Peter when Peter said Steven's name.

"Don't like," Mike said, pouting.

"I know you don't like him Mike, but he's coming so I want you to be on your best behaviour for him, okay?" Mike let out a huff of air, but nodded.

"Here's an idea," Micky said, getting up and going over to where Mike and Peter were. "How about you and I get the house picked up a little bit and by that time, Davy and Peter should be back and maybe we would have enough time to make something for Millie?" Mike seemed to perk up at that idea.

"Yeah!" Mike yelled, bouncing up and down slightly. Peter laughed a little.

"Okay, Davy and I will get going then and we'll be back before you know it. Listen to Micky, alright?" Mike nodded as he set the guitar aside before standing up and making eye contact with Micky.

"We'll try to be back soon, you two," Davy said as he grabbed his coat and the car keys while Peter grabbed the list and the money. "Have fun," He and Peter left glancing back Peter saw Mike with his nose pressed up against the window waving at them.


	10. Chapter 10- HEAD

Chapter 10- HEAD

"Is there any chance that Mike will be fine when we get home?" Davy asked after shutting the door.

"I don't think so. Do you think it's a good idea that we're leaving Micky alone with Mike in the state he's in?" Peter replied, getting into the MonkeeMobile.

"No, but I don't think it's negotiable right now. Micky still feels guilty and we might as well let him do what he needs to so he doesn't feel so guilty," Davy said, getting in the driver's seat.

The two drove off towards the grocery store, leaving Micky with the handicapped Mike. As the car drove away, Mike turned Micky and smiled happily. Something didn't feel right to Micky. He looked at the smile, as well as Mike's face, trying to figure out what it was about that look that made him uncomfortable. It was as if it was Mike, but wasn't.

As soon as it arrived, it had vanished, leaving the handicapped man in a state of insanity. Mike frowned, as if something had suddenly depressed him. He raced upstairs, slamming the door shut behind him. Micky called out to the man, but when no reply came, he decided to go and see what the trouble was.

Quietly he approached the door, as to not let Mike know he was there. He then quietly listened through the door.

"I'll be okay," He heard Mike say to himself. "No, no, no! Not okay, not okay!" Micky frowned, his hand strangling the door knob. He began turning it, but stopped when he heard Mike continue to speak. "I… I can't! Leave me alone, I know they'll be back!" Micky was surprised. Mike hadn't spoken so clearly or with such confidence since the accident. It was as if he was _recovering._ However, the hope Micky had vanished when he heard the sound of strangled gasps for air and the choked sound of crying.

"I don't want to. Don't make me. I can't, I can't!" Mike gasped with every breath. "Leave me alone, get out, get out!"

Micky opened the door, stepping into the room. "Mike?" He asked calmly, hoping that he wasn't showing any fear to the crying man.

Mike looked up from his hands, his eyes red with tears. He sprang to his feet, tackling the drummer in a hug. Mike continued to cry, "Micky… Davy…. Peter… Don't leave me, please!"

"Shush Michael," Micky said, tightening his hold on the older man and rubbing his back for comfort. "You're fine, I'm here. It's me, Micky, remember me?"

Michael continued to cry. "Micky… Peter… Davy!"

* * *

"Whoah, whoah, whoah! Where are you two going?!" Mike screamed, seeing the figures he had finally identified get up and walk away. He tried to follow, but something stopped him. "Come back! Please!" However, he could see the brown figure that was the front door shut. He ran to the door, panicked. "Hey! Davy! Peter! Come back!" It was no use. They got into the red blur that was the MonkeeMobile and drove away. Michael sighed, feeling lost once again.

"They're leaving you again, Michael," The voice said, taunting him.

"I can tell," Mike said, disheartened. He suddenly gained a little confidence. "They'll be back. I know they will. They're probably just going out to buy strings or groceries. They'll be back." Mike suddenly saw a blur from afar, remembering that only two figures had gone. "Micky!" Mike screamed at the blur, a huge smile on his face. The blur only stood there, as if it were not acknowledging Mike at all.

"He can't see you," The voice insisted. "You're invisible to him, you know. You always were."

"That's not true," Mike insisted again. "Now will you stop talking to me?!"

"If you so wish, Michael."

A sudden rush of fatigue overcame Mike. He caught his head with a free hand while wobbling a little. The world around him began to darken, but he tried to fight. "I'm okay… No, hell no, I am definitely not okay!" He tried to shake himself awake. "Davy and Peter will be back soon, I know they will, I just have to stay awake till then!"

"Don't fight it, Michael. It will only make things worse."

"Don't coax me with that kind of junk!" Mike said. "I'll fight this tiredness, and I will overcome you, like I did many years ago!"

The voice laughed at him. "You think you're so strong, Nesmith? Please. Save me the lecture. You overcame me because of the one thing I'm keeping you from now. I'm giving you back your loneliness and desperation by showing your friends that you're nothing but a psychotic lunatic!"

"Get the hell out of my head!" Mike screamed, falling to his knees. "I… I have to stay awake. I have to stay awake for Davy… I have to stay awake for Peter… I… I have to stay awake for M-micky…"

* * *

The guitarist fell asleep in Micky's arms. However, he kept a tight grip on the drummer. Slowly Micky maneuvered his way over to Mike's bed, laying him down and tucking him in. After he was satisfied with his work, Micky quietly walked over to his bed, kneeled, and pulled a small metal box out from under his bed. As quietly as he could, Micky opened the box and pulled a journal from it. Replacing the box and leaving the room, Micky searched for a pencil and raced to the back porch, musical inspiration flowing through him.

* * *

"Ask your, mommy, and daddy, what happened to the i-ndia-an," Micky sang softly, scribbling down notes, rhythms, and lyrics. "How come, they're living, in places, with too much snow or to-o much sa-and. Tell your, mommy, I've got a funny feeling deep insi-ide of me-e. Ask your, daddy, is it as bad as people ma-ake it se-em."

"Wa-ta tick-a ta to-to. Wa-ta tick-a ta to-to." A voice sang, scaring Micky. It had been nearly an hour since the drummer had put Michael to bed, but it still surprised Micky to see him standing in the doorway, listening to Micky sing.

"How long have you been there?!" Micky asked, quickly shutting his journal and standing.

Mike quickly turned away as if he was getting in trouble for something he knew he was guilty of. He shrugged to reply to Micky's question. Micky frowned. He didn't want to play the parent, but he knew he had to. "Michael, how long were you standing there?"

Mike shrugged again. "Minute," Mike answered, not looking at Micky.

Micky sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn't know what to say. He of all the Monkees was not the most talented at song writing, so he was hoping to keep this a secret from the others. In his hand he possessed a journal with years worth of songs that he wrote, but was afraid to share. In comparison to Mike and Peter's songwriting, his work was pathetic. However, Micky really liked the words Mike offered as the next line. It only hurt Micky to know that he didn't come up with it himself.

"Wa ta tick-a ta to-to?" Mike asked, glancing up at Micky. When Micky looked at him, Mike quickly looked away.

Micky gave an embarrassed laugh, mentally retracing his steps. "Ask your, daddy, is it as bad as people ma-ake it se-em?"

"Wa ta tick-a ta to-to, wa ta tick-a ta to-to," Mike and Micky sang together.

"I like it," Micky laughed. Mike smiled a childish, yet embarrassed smile, happy that Micky approved. "Mike," Micky let the mood sober a little. "Sit down here with me, please?" Mike silently did as he was told. He and Micky sat down against the back window of the beach house.

"Michael, what's the matter?" Micky asked, trying to find the right words. "Is there any way you can tell me how I can help?"

Mike focused on his hands, deep in thought. After a moment, he sang quietly to himself, "I got no time, baby, got lots of better things to do."

Micky sighed sarcastically, "That certainly helps. Anything else? Any actual words?" Suddenly, Micky had an idea. "Anything from here?" Micky slowly handed the journal to Mike, still scared for Mike to see his work. It didn't matter if Mike as ill or not, it was Mike.

The guitarist opened the book slowly and took his time to read the words and lyrics to each song. After about two minutes, he would finally flip a page. It was aggravating, but Micky knew Mike wasn't well, so his reading or comprehension skills wouldn't be up to par. After several minutes of silence and pages, Mike finally found the words he wanted. "A face, a voice," Mike read, his finger following the words on the page. "An overdub has no choice and it cannot rejoice. Wanting to be, to hear and to see, crying to the sky."

Micky read over his shoulder. "Why did you choose those words?"

Mike shook his head and repeated himself. "A face, a voice, an overdub has no choice and it cannot rejoice. Wanting to be, to hear and to see, crying to the sky."

Micky took the journal from him and sang the words, "A face, a voice, an overdub has no choice and it cannot rejoice. Wanting to be, to hear and to see, crying to the sky." He let the words sink in. "What does it mean?" He wondered to himself.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the front door.

Micky looked up from the notebook and glanced over his shoulder as the knocking continued.

"I wonder who that could be?" He questioned as Mike looked at the door as well. The knocking became more intense. Micky got up, Mike following close behind him as they went to the door.

"Who is it?" Micky called out.

"It's us, Peter and Davy," Peter's voice said. "Open the door, Micky, our hands are full." Micky opened the door and both Peter and Davy came in, their hands weighed down with bags.

"Did you buy out the whole store?" Micky asked as the two men made their way over to the table to put the bags down.

"No," Davy answered as he turned to go back outside to grab more bags. "We just thought it might be nice to not run out of food for a while."

"Chocolate," Mike said as he started rooting through the bags looking for the sweets. Peter smiled slightly.

"How about you help me put away some stuff then we'll see if we can find some chocolate," Peter suggested as he handed Mike a can of beans. Mike took the can and went over to the cupboard and set it on the shelf. He then went back to Peter.

"Here Mike, we have some more canned goods that you can put away if you'd like," Peter said as he continued to unload the bags. Mike smiled as he took the cans and put them into the cupboard next to the beans, singing a random song. Davy came in at that moment with the last of the bags.

"We got cake mix as well," Davy said, pulling a box out of one of the bags. "Thought that might be easier with Mike the way he is then trying to make one from scratch."

"Okay," Micky said as he put milk and some meat into the fridge. In a short time the three Monkees got the food put away with minimal rearranging from Mike.

"How is Mike?" Peter asked as he started to fold up the bags.

"He was fine," Micky answered, looking at Mike who found the cake mix and was now running his finger down the back of it. "Something happened when you two left, though."

"Something bad?" Davy asked as he sat down at the table.

"Not bad," Micky said, grabbing a bowl and preheating the oven "Just weird."

"Why? What happened?"

"After you left he went upstairs into the bedroom and was talking to himself," He said. "It was more clear than when he's singing song lyrics." Micky said quickly as Peter opened his mouth to say something.

"What do you mean?" Davy asked.

"Well it was almost like he was two people… Crazy Mike and sane Mike," Micky explained.

"I'm not crazy!" A voice said loudly, making all three Monkees jump and turn around. There was Mike, looking as if the week had never happened. Sane and cross, as always.

"Mike!" Micky yelped in shock. Mike stared at him, confused.

"Yeah, what do you want Mick?" Mike asked.

"You're back!" Davy said, his eyes wide.

"What do you mean 'I'm back?'" Mike asked. "I didn't know I went anywhere." Peter went over and gave Mike a hug. Mike, although startled by the display of affection, patted the blond on the back a few times.

"What's going on?" Mike asked as Peter pulled away.

"You, err…" Davy said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You haven't been yourself Mike," Peter said. Mike's eyebrows came together as he thought back over the last few days.

He took a deep breath. "What happened?" He asked, biting his lip worriedly.

"Well…" Micky said, his voice trailing off.

"You went crazy!" Davy yelled, waving his hands around. "You started talking to yourself and would only talk to us in song lyrics… at first. We even took you to a physciatrist for crying out loud!"

"Oh," Mike said, as he rubbed his temples and let out a yawn. "Uh, do you mind if I go and take a nap? I've got a terrible headache," He asked. His three bandmates shook their heads Mike gave them a smile and headed up to the bedroom. As he closed the door Micky, Davy and Peter all heard Mike talk to himself again.

"See, I told you I'm not invisible to them, they saw me."

"Not for long boy...not for long."


	11. Chapter 11- You Can't Run From the Past

Chapter 11- You Can't Run From the Past

"What's going on?!" Davy whispered as soon as they figured that Mike had fallen asleep. "I don't understand anymore…"

"None of us do," Micky commented, scratching his head. "Mike's insane."

"Don't let him hear you!" Peter hissed, looking up towards the bedroom as if waiting for something to happen.

"He's sleeping, he'll be-" There was a thunderous knock at the door, causing all three Monkees to jump. They were sure _that_ would make Mike wake up.

Davy dashed for the door, attempting to look through the peephole. When he failed, he just simply opened the door. Standing there was Steven and Millie. With an excited shriek, Millie engulfed Davy in a hug. "Hello boys!" She said excitedly.

"No so loud!" Micky warned, now as worried as Peter. "Mike's asleep."

"Sorry!" Millie whispered, dropping Davy, who fell to the floor with a 'thud!' Peter shushed Davy after he fell. All Davy did was glare at the older man with shocked accusation.

"Come in, won't you?" Peter offered. Millie and Steven walked into the house with Davy shutting the front door behind them.

"So how has Mike been?" Steven asked as they all congregated around the table.

"Well…" Davy began, but Micky cut him off.

"He's…"

"Better," Peter finished.

"A lot better," Davy said.

"Like, within the last hour, actually," Micky added.

"What do you mean?" Millie asked.

"He's acting like the accident never happened," Micky explained. "He's using proper sentences, acting like an adult, you know. He's acting how Mike _should_ act."

Steven's eyebrows frowned. "Did anything happen to him to make him change?" As he said this Millie helped herself to making snacks in the kitchen for everyone at the table.

"Not at all, or at least I don't think so," Peter said, rubbing his temples. "We were all putting groceries away when it happened."

"I was telling them about this weird smile Mike had on his face after they left for the store," Micky interrupted. "I said to them that the smile made it seem like two sides of Mike were showing through the smile. There was the sane, normal Mike we knew, then there was a psychotic side to the smile he had."

"That's when he butted in, saying that he wasn't crazy," Davy interrupted. "After that he was talking to us as if nothing ever happened. Then he went and took a nap."

"Hmm…" Steven mumbled as Millie put cheese, crackers, and salami in the middle of the table. "Has been up since he went to bed?"

"No," Davy confirmed. "However, we did hear him talking to himself right after he shut the door."

"It was really weird," Micky interrupted again. "I don't think he's as better as we think he is."

"There is only one way to find out," Steven sighed, pushing out the chair from under him. "Which door is his bedroom?"

"What?" Peter asked, standing as well.

Millie answered for the three of them. "Upstairs, dear. Only door up there."

Steven began his ascent of the spiral staircase, with all three Monkees in tow. They all were panicked, scared. What was he thinking of doing? Millie even followed them.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Davy exclaimed softly. "You don't plan on waking him, do you?"

"You're a madman if you want to wake up _Mike Nesmith_ ," Micky added quietly.

"We're all going to die, I'm sure," Peter moaned.

Micky snorted. "No, he's a pretty light sleeper, it's just the fact that when people wake him up he tends to... err... hit people."

"Hit people?" Steven repeated, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Davy said glaring at Micky. "Not too sure what that's about, but that's not the worst thing."

"Speak for yourself," Micky said, rubbing his jaw where Mike had decked him a few months ago.

"The worst thing is that if you wake him up and he's tired, he'll be cranky and mad at everyone the rest of the day." Peter added himself.

"Ah," Steven nodded and made his way to the door anyway.

"Are you nuts?" Micky whispered as Steven stuck his head inside.

"Looks like he's having another bad dream," Steven commented as he withdrew from the room.

"Really?" Micky asked, sticking his own head in through the door. He saw Mike tossing and turning in his sleep, snatching for words. Biting his lip, Micky made his way slowly over to the sleeping man.

"Mike?" He whispered. Mike didn't answer, but Micky caught something that made it sound like Mike was having an argument with himself.

"No, I'm not. I'm not," He said in a normal voice. Then it changed to a lower, gravelly voice.

"Shut up your worthless..." Mike said in this new voice, making Micky arch an eyebrow.

"Mike," Micky repeated, gently shaking Mike. Mike whimpered and rolled away from Mickey's hand.

"Please," Mike pleaded, curling up into a tight ball. "Be quiet."

"Why should I?" He said in the other voice. "It's true. You're nothing. Your family knew it. That's why they all left you."

"No," Mike muttered. "That's not true. They didn't leave me."

"Yes they did. Deep down you know it. And deep down you know these friends of yours will leave you soon, too."

"Mike," Micky said again, shaking Mike even harder in an attempt to wake him up. "Mike, wake up. Come on," Micky said. Mike's eyes snapped open, flickering everywhere before landing on Micky.

"F-friend?" Mike said hesitantly. Micky nodded and Mike pulled his knees up to his chest, his eyes not leaving Micky's.

"Did you have a bad dream Mike?" Micky asked. Mike nodded once his eyes landed on Steven and Millie.

"Do you want to tell us what it was about?" Steven asked. Mike shook his head no.

"Your friends told me that you were getting better, speaking like you use to," Steven said "Why do you think that is?" Mike shrugged.

"Steven dear, why don't you come with me and we'll make a pot of coffee and let the boys get Mike up and downstairs?" Millie said, suddenly going out the door. Steven looked at his aunt with disapproval, but nodded, following her out.

"Want to tell us what the dream was about?" Davy asked as Peter closed the door.

"Ma leave," Mike said, tears in his eyes. Clearly talking about the dream was bringing up bad memories. "We leave. Brothers and sisters leave. Voice stay."

"What?" Peter asked, looking at Davy and Micky. He saw he wasn't the only one who didn't get it. Mike bit his lip in concentration then started crying in frustration, not being able to tell his friends exactly what he was trying to say.

"Ma leave! We leave! Brothers and sisters leave! Voice stay!" Mike repeated through his tears.

"Leave where, Mike? Where did you leave from?" Davy asked as Peter went over to Mike and wrapped his arms around him, trying to calm Mike down. Mike didn't answer. Instead he buried his face into Peter's neck, trying to get a grip on his emotions. After a few minutes, Mike lifted his head from Peter's shoulder.

"Home."

"Home?" Micky said, puzzled. Mike just nodded. The three Monkees exchanged puzzled looks again as Davy went to the door. As he opened it he let out a startled yelp of shock. There at his feet in an unceremonious heap was Steven.

Davy kneeled down and examined the damage. There was blood dripping from Steven's head and a dark bruise was forming on his forehead. He began to run downstairs to call an ambulance, but at the foot of the stairs he was stopped by a large, terrifying man. The man picked Davy up by the shirt and pulled him close to his face. The smell of tobacco and alcohol filled Davy's nostrils as the man spoke to him.

"Where is Robert?" The man asked, hitting Davy with dangerous eyes.

"Who's Robert?" Davy asked, trying not to gag.

"My kid brother, where is he? I know he lives here," The man growled.

"There is no one here that goes by the name of Robert," Davy exclaimed.

"That's fresh, kid," The man said, throwing Davy to the ground. When Davy landed, he hit his head on the bottom stair. He rolled over and covered the spot he had been hit. He could hear the man beginning he ascent upstairs, and Davy was hoping Micky and Peter had heard the commotion, enough at least to find a way to defend themselves.

Davy tried standing, stabilizing himself on the guard rail of the stairs. His head was spinning and he felt like it was going to explode. That was until he saw Millie lying on the floor in the kitchen, unconscious. Davy staggered to the chess table, trying his hardest to focus on calling the police. He managed to pull the red rotary phone from the table and dialed 9-1-1.

"Hello?" Davy said, sitting down quickly to prevent himself from falling. "There is an intruder in my house. He has injured three of us now, and he might be harming mo-" Davy heard yelling and crying from upstairs. "Please come help, quick! Our address is 1334 Beachwood Drive." The operator told him that they had policemen and ambulances on their way. She asked for Davy to stay on the line with him. However, he quickly realized he couldn't. It was getting harder and harder to focus. Then, as he was still on the phone with the operator, he passed out.


	12. Chapter 12- Lost Forever

Chapter 12- Lost Forever

To his surprise, Davy woke up in a hospital bed. He hardly remembered anything happening. Last he knew, he was asking Steven to not wake up Mike. Mike was always terrible if you were the one to wake him up. He slowly tried to sit up, but found two sets of hands suddenly pushing him down. He looked up to see Micky and Peter were the ones holding him down.

"W-what the heck happened?" Davy asked, noting the worried looks they both had.

"That depends on what you remember," Micky stated, backing up and sitting down in a nearby chair.

"I… I remember us following Steven upstairs to the bedroom where Mike was sleeping," Davy said. "That's about it."

"Well," Micky started, looking at Peter for support. "Mike's brother broke into our house and kidnapped Mike."

"What?" Davy asked, starting to sit up again, but was stopped by Peter.

"You went downstairs to get Steven," Micky continued, "When you found him lying outside the door. Mike's brother apparently shot him with a silenced gun from the ground level. Steven hit his head on the guardrail when he collapsed. He was trying to come and warn us. He's okay now, though. He's in a room a few doors down. I think he got out of surgery a few hours ago. Millie is recovering, too. She has a concussion as well, presumably from Mike's brother."

"I didn't even know Mike had a brother," Davy commented.

"None of us did till he slipped up in his child-like state a few minutes before," Peter added. "We can only assume he beat you up, too, to get you here."

"Does this help jog your memory at all?" Micky asked.

"A bit, yeah," Davy said. "But what about Mike? You said his brother _kidnapped_ him?"

Both Peter and Micky refused to make eye contact with Davy now. However, Peter spoke. "He came up and threatened us with his gun. He recognized Mike right away. Mike…"

"Mike snapped out of his crazy persona just as his brother began to drag him away."

"We watched him break one of Mike's legs so he could take him without putting up much of a fight."

"We didn't do anything," Peter choked, his eyes firmly in his lap.

"Mike told us to get the police, and then he was gone. Out the door. When Peter and I ran to the balcony, there was no sign of him or Mike. Just you, Millie, and Steven lying unconscious on the floor."

"The police have begun the search for Mike and his brother and they are digging through our pad for evidence. They're trying to find out as much as they can."

Both men stopped talking, both on the verge of tears. Micky got a hold of himself first.

"Apparently the Dallas police have been trying to find Mike's brother for a while," Micky said. "He's wanted in Dallas, Fort Worth, Enid in Oklahoma, and some other places leading to California."

"What did he do?" Davy asked.

"I think a more appropriate question would be what _didn't_ he do," A voice said from the doorway. All three men turned and looked at the policeman who was standing in the doorway with a doctor.

"Mr. Nesmith, that is to say Virgil Nesmith, is a thief, kidnapper, and wanted for questioning for the murder of three people, among other things," The police officer said, stepping into the room.

"What?" Davy gasped as he made to sit up. He groaned as the room began to spin.

"Explains why Mike kept quiet about his past," Micky said, putting a hand on Davy's shoulder to keep him laying down.

"Do you think Mike even knew what his brother was up to?" Davy asked as the doctor finally went over to examine him. Micky shrugged.

Peter brought up a different worry for them all. "If Virgil did all of that, then what do you think he's doing to Mike?" Davy groaned, closing his eyes.

"I don't even want to think about it," Micky said, rubbing the back of his neck with worry.

"What are you doing to get Virgil?" Davy asked as he tried to swat the flashlight that the doctor was shining into his eyes.

"We're doing all that we can, believe me," The police officer said. "We spoke to Steven and we have a missing person alert out for Mike."

"I thought you had to wait twenty four hours for that," Davy said, jerking his head around to see the police officer.

"Mr. Jones, if you don't let me examine you I will keep you in here for more time than you're meant to," The doctor finally said. Davy sighed, but let the doctor look him over.

"Normally we do, but Steven, as well as Micky and Peter, have filled me in on Mike's mental state and he is qualified as a vulnerable adult."

"What does that mean exactly?" Micky asked.

"A vulnerable adult is someone who is over the age of eighteen who either has a mental disability, physical disability or is an older person who may have alzheimer's or dementia." The police officer explained, "Seeing as you friend Mike is not acting like he's in his twenties, like he was, he fits the qualifications."

"Oh," Micky said, nodding.

"What are you doing to find Mike?" Peter asked.

"We have road blocks set up along every major highway leading into Malibu and the rest of Los Angeles and we have all available police looking for Virgil's car."

"But they could have ditched the car, switched the plates or any number of things," Davy said, panicked.

"Don't worry, we'll find him," The police officer said. "Like I said, we're doing everything we can and it's not just us. We have a small task force from Texas as well as the FBI helping. They're going to want to question you as well just as soon as the doctor gives the okay. They are questioning Mrs. Rudnick right now," Davy nodded as he looked at Peter and Micky, fear and worry twisted in his stomach.

* * *

A trickle of rain fell on Mike's face. He opened his eyes, finding a vast, grey sky. He frowned, slowly getting on his feet. He stood, looking around. The scenery was more or less recognizable, but Mike still knew where he was. He looked up to the sky. "So you're giving me somewhere to live then, huh? Instead of letting me wallow in the blurs and darkness of my own reality?" The voice he knew so well did not reply, but simply let everything play out to its plan.

A child ran past him, aggravated sobs echoing behind him. Mike watched as the child latched on to the nearest tree, a tree Mike remembered all too well. That was _his_ tree.

"Get back here you baby!" A voice, the voice, screamed. Mike turned, seeing his brother walking briskly towards the crying boy. A chill went down his spine as Virgil spoke. "How you gonna grow up to be a man if you can't take a beating?"

"Stop it, Virgil, just stop!" The boy cried. "Ma told ya to stop this! To stop hurting us!"

"Screw what she says," Virgil growled, picking the boy up by the back of his neck. "I'm the man of the house now, didn't ya hear Papa? You're _my_ property, now."

"Virgil, stop!" The child begged. That's then Virgil dropped him and kicked him. He kicked him over and over. With each kick Mike could feel the pain shoot through him. He _remembered_ the pain. Each kick, each swear, it all made him want to die. He kicked the young boy till he threw up.

"There ya' go," Virgil sneered. "Now remember your place, kid."

The child didn't reply. He simply hid his face from his older brother, not daring to push him any farther. Laughing, Virgil stomped away, past Mike again, and into the foggy distance.

"And that's now it's been," The voice in Mike's head laughed. "That's how it has been every single day since."

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" Mike yelled. "Why can't you let me fail in peace?"

"That would be too easy," The voice sneered.

Mike turned towards the tree where the whimpering child hid. Mike walked over, reaching out to touch him. As he thought it would, his hand went through the child. Of course. Only a figment of his imagination. As his hand passed through the child, the child disappeared like the fog around him. When the child vanished, so did everything else around him. All that was left was the surprisingly calming ambush of rain on Mike's face.

"Will ya wake up, kid? Come on, you can do it," The voice insisted, somehow calmer, but more intense. Mike felt his head swimming, but he couldn't control it. He tried to see what he could, but it was all still a blur.

Trying to grip onto any bit of strength he had, both mentally and physically, Mike searched for the source of the voice and said, "Will ya let me sleep, please?" Sleeping didn't take as much effort as he was putting in right now, and he didn't feel like he could hold on much longer. Letting your guard down around the Monkees was one thing. Letting it down around your brother was another.

"No chance, kid," The voice sneered. Mike suddenly felt himself lifted and thrown into something hard. Mike cringed when his body made contact with whatever it was he was thrown into.

"What was that for?" Mike asked, trying to find the face of his captor.

Something, a hand, presumably, striked his neck, pulling him up. The voice then returned to him. "This is for those ten years of hell you put me through."

"What ten years?" Mike choked, his eyes focusing in on the ugly face he knew all too well.

Virgil Nesmith pulled the man close, close enough that Mike could smell the nice fresh layer of tobacco smoke resonating off his brother's breath. "Those ten years since the day you was born, you brat."

Mike couldn't speak anymore, but he also couldn't hold himself together anymore. He couldn't breathe. Virgil quickly dropped him back into the thing he had originally put him in, the sound of something slamming shut followed. Mike felt around with his body, realizing he was in a wooden box. However, with the terrible headache that was coming on, Mike couldn't help but slip back into the darkness he knew so well now, letting his emotions take over his brain. He began to cry at the pain in his head. Virgil quickly kicked the box, telling him to shut up. Mike did as he was told, silently drifting back to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13- Pieces on the Ground

Chapter 13- Pieces on the Ground

It was late. Micky knew he should be asleep, but somehow staying at the pad didn't feel safe, even if the police were downstairs. The chief of police insisted on having someone with Micky and Peter at the pad, as well as having someone at the hospital with Davy, Millie and Steven, just in case Virgil should come back.

"Is there a chance of that?" Peter had asked when he and Micky climbed out of the patrol car.

"No, but we'd rather error on the side of caution then not," The policeman said. Peter nodded. That made sense. Micky opened up the front door and flicked a light on as he and Peter stepped into the pad. The place was just how they left it. The loveseat was flipped over, as was the coffee table. Muddy boot prints where on the carpet and the phone was still off the hook. Their instruments where strewn around as well. Micky went over to assess the damage done to them while Peter made his way upstairs, dredding what he was going to find. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside the bedroom and sighed in relief. Muddy boot prints were up here as well, but there wasn't to much damage done. Blankets were thrown to the floor and pillows were riped but it looked like most of the damage was done downstairs.

"How's everything looking up there Peter?" Micky called out as Peter made his way back downstairs.

"Not to bad. We'll have to get new pillows, I think," He answered. "What about down here?"

Micky sighed, "We'll need to get a new drum head. I'm thinking maybe one of Mike's brother's friends put a foot through it. Your bass has a scratch on the back, too." Peter went over to his guitar and lovingly picked it up and looked at it. "I don't think it's to deep though," Micky said. "Davy's instruments are chipped and banged up, but nothing that can't be fixed, and Mike's guitars are gone."

Peter looked up from where he was examining his bass. "What do you mean gone?" He asked.

"They're not here," Micky said. "I looked everywhere for them."

"Maybe Virgil took them?" Peter suggested.

"Why though? From what it sounds like, he hates Mike, so why would he take something of Mike's?" Micky asked.

Peter shrugged, "Maybe he'll use it to torture him in some way?" He suggested. "You know break them in front of him or something?"

"I can put an alert out for Mike's instruments at pawn shops and second hand stores," The policeman suggested. "It could be that Virgil took them to get cash."

Micky sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before going over to the phone book. "Okay," Micky said as he opened the phone book. "I want to call some now, though, just to be safe." He picked up the phone and started calling the second hand stores. While he did that Peter started to pick up. When Micky got done he helped as well. Soon most of the furniture was back where it belonged and any broken pieces were in trash bags along with a pillow.

"Now what?" Peter asked, yawning.

"Now you two go to bed," The policeman said, steering both boys to the stairs. "I'll stay down here and keep an eye on things." Micky nodded and headed up stairs Peter on his heels.

"Do you think Mike's okay?" Peter asked as he stripped off his shirt and pants before pulling on his orange bunny pajamas. Micky sighed as he pulled his own clothing off and got ready for bed.

"He'll be fine Peter," Micky assured the blond. He went over and flicked the light off, plunging the room into darkness, all except for a little sliver of moonlight shining through the window. Micky sighed, rolled over, then got up and made his way to the window. He looked out at the ocean, hoping the crashing waves would help him get to sleep. Letting out a heavy sigh, Micky traced shapes onto the window sill, holding onto the belief that Mike was going to be okay.

* * *

Mike woke up again to a radio playing softly. Focusing on the song, he moaned and struggled to open his eyes. Making a noise was the wrong thing to do. Almost immediately he felt a slap to the back of his head. He whimpered in pain.

"Shut up and take it like a man," Virgil spat. Mike turned with tear filled eyes to his older brother.

"F-friend?" He sniffled.

"What was that Michael?" Mike bit his lip, wondering if he should repeat what he had said. His brother made the choice for him. Grabbing Mike by his hair, Virgil pulled him to his feet, almost standing on his tiptoes as he pulled Mikes hair back. Mike yelped in shock and pain.

"What did you just say Michael?" He whispered.

"W-want f-f-friend," Mike choked out. Virgil let go of Mike and pushed him to the ground. Mike fell hard on the wood floor, shooting pain going into his left wrist and leg. Mike howled and grabbed at his injured leg, looking at his brother with tears in his eyes.

"You want your friend, hmm?" Virgil asked. Mike nodded hesitantly.

"And which one is your friend?" Mike didn't answer. Virgil gritted his teeth.

"Fine, I'll get you your friend," He spat and stormed out the door and Mike heard a key turn in the lock. Mike waited until he was sure his older brother was gone before he let the tears fall. Trying to find a position that was comfortable without hurting his leg anymore then necessary, Mike cried until he fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

Virgil Nesmith locked the door, stuffing the key in his pocket. Behind him stood his three other brothers, all quietly waiting for their eldest to speak. Virgil turned, eyeing each of them down individually. After establishing his dominance, he growled, "Kid wants one of his friends."

"You're not going to go out and pick on them too, are you?" One brother spoke up.

"Of course not," Virgil laughed. "He'll get over it. He's a Nesmith."

"I don't know, Virgil, he didn't look too good when you n' Warren carried him in here," Another brother added.

"Mentally, we mean," The first brother, Warren, added. "Something's not right up there." He tapped the side of his head for emphasis.

"Don't suppose you did that to him, do you Virgil?" The second brother asked.

"Of course not," Virgil said. "He was all looped up when I plucked him out of his house."

"Virgil, I still don't think this is a good idea," The second brother said.

"So you'd rather I kill ya wife instead?" Virgil asked, stepping closer to his little brother.

"I don't think you should be killing anyone! Not your brother, not my wife-" The second brother began.

"Not our mother," Warren interrupted. "But I guess it's too late for that one, huh Virgil?"

Virgil turned from the second brother and stomped towards Warren. "You always had a big mouth, you know that?"

"And you always had a small brain, you know that?" Warren spat back.

"Come on guys, chill out," The third brother finally said.

Virgil grabbed Warren by the throat and lifted him into the air. "I'll chill out once Warren here learns how to watch his mouth." Virgil threw his brother up against the wall, letting him fall to the floor on his own. Virgil turned back around to the other two brothers. "But you're right. Somethin' isn't right in Robert's head. We can't get one of his actual friends, that's too much work and too risky."

"So what are you gonna do, Virgil?" The second brother asked.

Virgil grinned, his eyes moving to the third and youngest Nesmith. "Morgan," Virgil address the young man with venom and deceit in his voice. "You go talk to him. Go be Robert's little friend."

"That's risky," Warren croaked from the corner. "He didn't even wanna come to this little family reunion of yours, Virgil."

"Yes, but he knows the rules, don't you Morgan?" Virgil stepped closer to his youngest brother, the evil grin not passing. "Tell me the rules, Morgan."

Morgan gulped, maintaining eye contact with his brother. "Do as you ask, or you'll cut my arm off."

Virgil's smile widened. "You know what? I think, since this is such a dangerous task I'm assigning you with, I'll up the price. If you betray me in any way, whether that be helping Robert, his friends, or anyone who is not a Nesmith, I'll kill that little doll that you've been seeing."

"You wouldn't!" Morgan jumped to his feet. "Marybeth has done nothing to you!"

"Oh, that's her name, is it?" Virgil sneered, backing away. "An arm and a girlfriend. Is it worth it to betray me, Morgan? You remember what happened when Papa defied me all those years ago. You were young, yes, but I know you remember it all too well."

Morgan shrunk. "You don't kill your own mother in front of your six year old brother, Virgil."

"Yet here you are, living, breathing. Her death didn't affect you one bit," Virgil laughed, turning away from him and heading out down the hall. He called back to them. "I'm goin' out for a smoke. Warren, James, prepare Stage 2. Morgan, don't do anything stupid."

In the hall they heard a door open and slam shut, their brother's presence finally fading. The three brothers looked at each other, fear in their eyes. This was not what they wanted. They never wanted this. Unlike their older brother, they loved Robert. Robert was the one who took care of them after Virgil killed their mother. Robert was the one who cared for them, to make sure they were okay. The day Robert was taken from them was the worst day of their lives. If they had a choice, they wouldn't hurt him. If it wasn't for the fact that their loved ones lives were on the line, they would not have dared let Virgil get this far. However, Virgil was their eldest brother, and he knew very well how to control them. There was no changing that.


End file.
